Page 39 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

I stared at him. “Most of your people.”

“Yes.”

“Do you?”

Ronan’s expression didn’t change. “I have never seen a human survive a true mark.”

My mouth had gone dry. “That was not an answer.”

“It is the only honest one.”

I swallowed and wished I had not. “And the people outside?”

Ian spoke before he could. “They will not touch you.”

I looked at Ian. “That was also not an answer.”

No one said anything. The fever moved again, crawling up the side of my throat. Black sparks appeared at the edges of my vision. I tried to sit up, and Ian’s hand held me down.

This time, I shoved weakly at his wrist. “Don’t.”

He removed his hand at once and pain slammed into me. My spine arched. The room tilted. Something tore through my chest in hot, branching lines, and I heard myself make a sound that belonged to an animal in a trap. Ian’s hand came back and the pain dropped from unbearable to merely vicious.

I lay there gasping, humiliated by the relief.

“Do not,” I said through my teeth, “make me need the man who did this.”

Ian went still. The words hit him. I saw it. Good. I wanted them to.

“The mark has tied your body to his,” Ronan said. “For now, proximity may be the only reason you are conscious.”

“I am thrilled for proximity.”

“You should be unconscious again soon.”

“You give terrible pep talks.”

Dr. Sava injected something into the IV taped to my arm. I had no memory of her putting it there, which was just one more piece of my body everyone else had apparently voted on.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Something for the seizures.”

“I’m having seizures?!”

“You were.”

“Was anyone going to mention that?”

“If you are alive tomorrow, I will make you a list.”

I looked at Ronan. “What happens if I’m not alive tomorrow?”

His gaze didn’t soften. “Then we handle the human side with the cleanest possible story.”

The room went very quiet. For one second, I could not even feel the pain.

“The cleanest possible story,” I repeated.