The bites Maverick had left on my neck were gnarly. Especially the newest one. Either way, they should heal in a few days without leaving a scar.
I hoped.
I had never been injured like that before, so I wasn’t sure. If I had, I definitely would’ve tried harder to feed every week, because it really fucking hurt.
There were premade meals and a plethora of snack foods in the kitchen, so I nuked some Hot Pockets for dinner. After a beat of hesitation, I grabbed a bag of gummy wolves too, before plopping down on the couch with every blanket I’d found on the bed.
Sugar would help with the pain in my neck. And the stress of knowing that the life I’d worked my ass off to build was over.
I turned on the first episode of my favorite TV show, and promptly allowed myself to become a potato.
For days.
I was snoringon the couch under a mountain of blankets, with an impressive hill of candy and snack wrappers on the ottoman, when the door to my cushy prison finally unlocked.
I jerked upright, my heavy eyelids flying open as my brain struggled to escape the hold of sleep. Starvation made me more sluggish than usual. My stomach was a cavernous pit of hunger.
A solid few seconds passed before I could connect the man in the doorway to the feral werewolf who had bitten me twice.
My neck still hadn’t finished healing, and ached constantly, so Rhone hadn’t known what he was talking about as far as healing time went.
Maverick’s scent drifted over to me, and I could’ve groaned.
Vanilla.
Cinnamon.
Perfection.
My fangs descended rapidly, throbbing so hard it hurt.
The Alpha was wearing a pair of jeans and another stupidly well-fitted t-shirt. There was a large, leather messenger bag hanging off his shoulder, which seemed out of place.
If he was going to free me, I wasn’t going to comment on his questionable choice in accessories.
Even if he wasn’t, I wasn’t going to risk my life to bring it up.
Maverick’s gaze skimmed my blanket setup and wrapper mountain.
I wasn’t going to apologize for the mess.
He’d been holding me prisoner even after he knew I was innocent. Yes, the cell was fairly comfortable, but they hadn’t let me have my phone. My friends and family had undoubtedly been freaking out the whole six days I was gone.
“Did you figure out who killed him?” I asked.
Maverick’s forehead creased.
Had he already forgotten? What the fuck?
“Steven,” I clarified.
His expression cleared. “No.”
“Fantastic.” I stood up. My bun flopped to the side with the motion. My hair was still in a wild knot on top of my head from a few days earlier. It had absolutely seen better days.
My stomach rumbled.
Maverick’s eyes narrowed. “There’s supposed to be food in here.”
