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As he finds a rhythm on the saxophone, a tune emerges, the notes horribly sad and moving. Chilling. But brilliant, nonetheless. His self-taught mastery of music never fails to awe me, sending shivers up and down my spine.
The song grows in complexity, gaining depth, trickling with despair, and overtaking his expression. The transformation jars me every time. When he plays, he looks so old, aged with horrors and demons. Haunted.
When he plays, it’s the only time I truly see him.
Sinking into the swamp.
Grieving.
Barely able to go on.
Movement stirs in the doorway, drawing my gaze.
Leo lingers on the threshold, a bottle of vodka dangling from his hand, his attention rapt on Wolf.
He sees what I see. A tormented boy lost in the body of a handsome, gifted musician.
Behind him, Frankie hovers with her mouth agape, gobsmacked. I doubt she’s ever heard the resonance of a saxophone sound this sorrowful while equally voluminous and enthralling. It’s the din of a soul crying in pain.
If Wolf notices them, he doesn’t show it. He’s unreachable, adrift in his dark melody. Even as the notes sing through my blood, affecting me profoundly, I hate to see him like this.
It’s a hellish reminder of what’s been done and what will soon take place again.
I don’t know if I can stop it. Denver’s pretty little pawn is still here, and with each passing day, I find myself more interested in protecting her than killing her.
That doesn’t bode well for us.
Minutes pass before Leo joins me on the floor.
“Has he spoken?” His eyes flick from Wolf to the blood-soaked shirt around my hand.
“No.”
He sits with that for a moment, taking long pulls from the vodka. Then he hands the bottle to me and crooks a finger at Frankie.
She jolts, yanked from the hypnosis Wolf put her in, and lifts a canvas bag from the floor. I don’t need to see the contents to know it’s filled with medical supplies.
“I’ll heal.” I take a swig of vodka, savoring the sweet accents of blueberry—my latest batch. “Send her away.”
“Do it yourself.” He shoves my outstretched legs to the side, making room for her. “After she patches you up.”
A growl erupts in my throat, sharply cut off when I notice a dot of blood on her mouth. What the hell?
She kneels between us and passes the bag to Leo, her attention fixed on my red-stained makeshift bandage.
While she’s distracted, I grip her chin with my good hand and squeeze hard, forcing her bottom lip to pucker outward.
The inner part of her smooth, pink, moist flesh glows with a fresh laceration.
A bite.
My gaze whips to Leo, who glowers back with a look I’ve never seen on him before. His eyes burn with possessiveness, and that…that can’t be right.
Startled, I’m not prepared when he grabs my wrist and bends it backward, causing me to release her.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, jerking back.
I don’t know if she’s talking to him or me, but I say, “He hurt you.”
Neither of them speaks.
She shakes her head, refocusing. “I’m going to fix your hand.”
“Why?”
“I’m trained. You can get an infection and—”
“Why would you help me?”
“Your brother didn’t hurt me, Kodiak. But I hurt you.”
Wolf plays on, filling the room with full, deep, sepulchral notes.
“I’m sorry.” She blinks rapidly, and her arresting features pinch, looking crestfallen. “You were punished for my actions, and I deeply regret it. If I could take it back, I would.”
The sincerity in her voice wraps an iron band around my throat. It’s hard to swallow. Hurts to breathe. Why is she saying this? What did Leo tell her?
His expression gives nothing away. No, that’s not true. There’s conflict there, a battle warring in his motley eyes. But it’s not about me. He’s fixated on her.
Not good.
“I treated a wound similar to yours last year.” She holds out her hand, waiting for me to offer mine. “A woman crashed into a glass window, and a shard went clean through her palm. May I?”
It’s not that I don’t trust her skill. It’s her intentions that make me hesitate. Or maybe it’s my intentions.
If she touches me, I’ll like it.
I’ll like it too much.
I’ll like it so much I’ll start looking at her the way Leo’s looking at her now. Hungrily. Possessively. Before I know it, I’ll choose her over them. Then it’ll start. The suspicious resentment. The fear of losing her affection, of being betrayed, and of getting bested in a rivalry among my brothers.
That’s how Denver will win.
It’s why she’s here.
“Leave the supplies. I’ll stitch it myself.” I chug several swallows of vodka, letting the alcohol seethe through me, hot and unfiltered, as I glare at her. “Get the fuck out!”
It’s a testament to Wolf’s cracked state of mind when he doesn’t miss a note amid my roar.
Leo has the opposite reaction.
“Listen, motherfucker.” He’s on me in an instant, a hand at my throat, holding me down. “If you don’t cooperate, I will knock your ass out.”
