A week; seven agonizingly long days trapped in this hellhole. If the guys haven’t found us by now, they aren’t going to. Our only shot of escape is me, and I’m fucking useless.
“No need to even fully shift,” I beg, desperately trying to convince my inner dragon to rip me to shreds if that’s what it takes, but Kodi’s the only one that’s had any luck coaxing it to the surface. “Slap a pair of wings on me and we’ll be golden. Hell, I’ll even do all of the work busting out the glass if you get me up there.”
But no matter how much I beg or try to bargain, nothing fucking happens. Not a flash of scales; not even a wave of nausea.
I’m finally willing to surrender control to the monster lurking beneath my skin, let it have free rein to make me it's puppet, and it doesn’t want me anymore. Even my inner dragon has given up expecting anything from me and abandoned me.
Snagging the water bottle off the mattress beside me, I whip it across the room with a frustrated scream. It doesn’t even make it far enough to hit the wall, smacking into one of the plants and falling to the floor, completely unscathed. Burying my face in my hands, I suck down ragged breaths, doing everything in my power not to crumple into an angry, sobbing heap.
As Malcolm’s hand settles on my shoulder, I startle with a yelp, not even hearing him slip into the room. “Darling? What’s wrong?” The genuine concern in his voice makes me bite back another scream.
Everything.Everythingis wrong.
“I’m just tired,” I whisper instead, feeling so godsdamned defeated and hopeless.
He strokes his palm over my arm, and it’s a painful reminder that my wardrobe has been reduced to a pair of small sleep shorts, and a shirt that’s little more than a sports bra. His fingertips stroke the scarred mess from burning over my tattoo, and I shut my eyes tight, wishing that the next time I open them, this all will have been a terrible dream.
“I should have enough ink left to fix this,” he says softly.
“When you got here I reached out to my friend to get some more, but he's so busy experimenting with his new lycan drug that he doesn't have time to make me another batch. I’ll make it work, though, and you’ll feel better again. I promise.”
Voice carefully controlled, I force my eyelids open to concentrate on his reaction as I ask, “Why do you need special ink to fix my tattoo? Can’t we just get some from the same place parlors buy theirs?”
He blinks at me like it's obvious. “To keep you from hurting yourself. You can’t shift, Amara. You don’t have any scales to protect you, and the times youdouse your abilities, it wears you out quickly. Your body can’t handle too much electricity at one time or it would tear you apart.”
All of the blood drains from my face.
The conversation I walked in on the guys having…
I thought it was weird that they were suddenly worried about removing my tattoo when we had a million more important things to deal with and it was already long since burned over, but they must have known more than they admitted to.
They knew. They knew, and they lied straight to my face when I called them out on keeping secrets.
“So you… help me manage that energy? Why?”
He jerks back like I slapped him. “It’s my job to take care of my mate.” Recovering from his shock, he shakes his head and sighs. “It was hard staying away from you, and I nearly caved countless times, but it was the right thing to do.” Wrapping an arm around my back, he grips my hip, breath sending a shiver down my spine as he whispers against my bare shoulder, “Because you believe me now, right? That I’d do anything for you?” Nausea churns in my gut and I’m forced to breathe through my nose to keep my reactions on lockdown as his hand glides up to my ribcage. “You’re perfect, Amara, but now we’re a perfect match. I finally proved that I’m worthy of being your mate.”
Brushing my hair out of the way, he trails a line of kisses across my shoulder to the side of my neck. An involuntary shudder has me twisting away on reflex, and he goes rigid beside me.
In a deadly calm voice, he asks, “Amara. What is this?” Threading his fingers through my hair, he fists it tightly as I try to jerk out of his grip, lifting my hair for a better view of the back of my neck.
Heart sprinting and blood pounding heavily in my ears, the edges of my vision darken. Forcing a fake as hell smile to my face, I aim for casual, but my voice is breathless. “Oh, that old thing? I got a tattoo a few years ago. Since I can’t shift into a dragon, I wanted to have one of my own, you know? Y- you could get one too, so we can match agai-”
“DON’T LIE TO ME!”
I flinch at his voice booming in my ear, but his grip on my hair only tightens. “I wouldn’t, I-” Hissing in a sharp breath as he jerks my head back, pain explodes in my mouth as I bite my tongue. The coppery tang is a small comfort, helping ground me in the moment.
His voice is little more than gravel. “Which. One?”
When I don’t immediately answer, claws prick the back of my skull, making me choke on my tongue.
He could crush my head like a grape.
Pissed off at my silence, he shoves me forward, throwing me to the ground as he surges to his feet. Knees and palms scraping on the floor, I scramble up from the vulnerable position. Watching Malcolm warily as he paces, fisting his blonde hair and eyes wild, I frantically try to think of a way to salvage this.
And come up blank.
I’m out of time, out of options, and completely fucked.
