Page 69 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“You are not the judge of that.”

I looked at my brother. “No. I am the reason she needs truth in pieces because the whole of it may kill her.”

Ronan’s face didn’t change.

Sava gathered her bag, but her eyes moved between us with open warning.

“This is the only warning I will give you,” Ronan said. “If she learns too much too quickly and panics, that panic may kill her. If she tells the humans, they will die. If the pack thinks she has enough knowledge to threaten us, I may not be able to keep the council behind a door.”

“Then keep them afraid of you.”

“They are.” His gaze moved to the bed. “They are more afraid of what you will become for her.”

I had no answer, because I was beginning to fear it too.

The room quieted around Cassie’s sleep. Outside, the pack waited. Beyond them, the humans lied to themselves in the daylight because humans were good at making fear wait until after breakfast.

I stood beside the bed of a woman who hated me, a woman my wolf had chosen, a woman my Alpha might one day decide needed to disappear.

Cassie had asked for privacy.

Because of me, even sleep had become another locked room.

Chapter 10:

Terms and Conditions Apply

Cassie

My mother cried on a tablet screen.

That was how I knew the day had gotten worse.

The tablet stood on a rolling tray near the foot of the bed, angled so I could see the west lobby behind her. Marble floors. White flowers. A wall of windows pouring in civilized morning light, as if the resort had not spent the night hiding a supernatural medical crisis beneath its tasteful stonework. She sat on a cream sofa with a tissue balled in one hand. Tessa was beside her, pale and swollen-eyed, clutching Henry so tightly the dog looked both cherished and resentful, which meant at some point while I was asleep they sent Henry away from all the werewolves. My father stood behind them with his arms folded, expression flat in a way I knew meant he was past polite. Aunt Linda hovered at his shoulder with a mimosa and a face full of murder.

Grant stood slightly apart from them.

Of course he did.

Grant had always understood framing. He looked concerned but composed, rumpled just enough to suggest he had been awake with worry. His shirt was open at the throat. His hair remained offensive. He had positioned himself where the lobby light hit his face softly, because even crisis could be useful if one knew where to stand.

I hated him with enough strength to feel briefly healthier.

“Cassie?” Tessa’s voice cracked. “Oh my God. Cassie.”

I looked down at myself. Someone had changed me while I was unconscious. There were still bandages across my shoulder and chest, and the left side of my body felt as if it had been used to stop machinery, but the ruined bridesmaid dress was gone. In its place, I wore a soft black robe over a loose tank top and medical wrappings. The robe was expensive, because apparently captivity had a spa package.

The bite was hidden.

The room was hidden.

Ian stood out of view of the tablet, close enough that the mark under my skin had settled into a dull, watchful ache. Ronan stood near the door with his arms folded, positioned so I could see him and the screen could not. Sava sat in a chair beside the bed with one hand near my IV line, watching my vitals with the air of a woman prepared to end the call the second my body objected.

Lucien stood somewhere on the other side of the tablet, inside the west lobby, wearing a calm voice and a resort manager’s suit. I could not see him, but I could hear him.

“Ms. Morgan is awake and able to speak briefly,” he said. “Dr. Sava has limited this call to five minutes”

Five minutes. My life had been reduced to a supervised hostage proof-of-life with talking points.