Page 20 of Brock’s Mate

Well, right now she’s naked in the back of my car, and she needs help, not dick.

Desi said, “Excuse me? If the Bubbas are gone, do you think you could get your bare-ass self off me? And maybe cover your junk?”

Brock jumped. “Sorry.” He sat up and moved off of Desi, groping around for the pile of clothes he’d left on the back seat. He finally realized they’d slid to the floor.

Desi had moved to the other side of the seat while he was groping around, pulling her legs up and wrapping the blanket more tightly around her. Probably afraid he’d grope her. Or worse.

She said—more politely than you’d expect—“Do you think you could explain to me exactly what the fuck just happened?”

“Yeah. Give me a sec.” Brock had thankfully found his jeans and was shimmying into them, stuffing his half-boner inside, where it did not want to go.

He passed the sweats over to Desi. “Here. You can put these on.”

As she wiggled around, trying to dress herself underneath the blanket, Brock busied himself grabbing a handful of fast-food paper napkins and a half-empty bottle of water from the front passenger seat.

Even though he was trying not to, he kept getting tantalizing glimpses of Desi’s skin as she dressed. Not to mention the scent of her, which was driving his wolf crazy, especially laced with blood the way it was.

He handed her the water bottle and the napkins. “You probably want to get the rest of the blood off you.”

She hesitated a second, then took the water and napkins without saying anything. She wet them and started rubbing the blood off her face.

Brock knew he should say something, but he had absolutely no clue where to start. Usually when he got victims of non-consensual Turning, they were in Council custody and had already been told they were shifters. He didn’t even know if she knew shifters existed.

But he had her phone, and that message that had sent her out of the bar tonight—and likely triggered her Change.

Ninety-nine percent chance it was from the guy who’d Turned her.

Leaning forward again, he felt around till he found her phone on the front seat. He woke it up and there was the text, still on the screen. He held it out to her.

“Who sent you this message?” he asked.

Desi felt herself go still, the way she did when she’d just realized she was in a bad situation, and needed to figure how to get out. Body still, mind racing with the usual questions. How much trouble was she in? Where were the escape routes? How dangerous was this person? Should she run now, or bide her time?

Bide her time. She needed information. Like whether this guy was working with Jered.

“Like you don’t know?” she said, a deliberate challenge in her voice.

“How the fuck would I know? I just met you.”

She stared at him, trying to see—to feel—a lie. He was one of them—a werewolf—so how could he not know about Jered and the others? It would be too much of a coincidence if he didn’t.

Only… he was telling the truth. She knew it, the same way she’d known everyone in the bar tonight was lying about their Dirty Questions.

“Jered sent it. My ex,” she said slowly, trying to figure things out. Trying not to admit the thing that had been hovering at the edges of her mind since she woke up naked in the forest being hunted by Bubbas.

No, long before that. Heat. Blood. The dream of running on four legs.

The nightmare that might not be a nightmare.

She added, “And that’s my phone. Why do you have it? And what did you do with my clothes?”

“You left the phone on the table in the bar, remember? And you left your clothes by the side of the road. What’s left of them.”

“You’re bullshitting me.” But maybe he wasn’t. She remembered stopping the car. Feeling sick, and getting out. Throwing up everything she’d eaten.

And then… nothing until she was running through the pond. Swimming, then feeling mud under her paws. Feet. Paws.

Fuck.