Page 31 of Dark

“Hayden!”

Tears blurred my vision. I stared down at the gleaming silver handcuffs for only a second before they were torn from my hands, clattering against the wall. Ethan gripped my shoulders, dragging me into the bathroom. I shivered, gasping for breath as he wrapped his arms around me from behind, getting the tap going, guiding my hands underneath it so the water could cool the burns. He smoothed my hair off my neck, pressing his lips repeatedly to my claiming mark and murmuring in a low voice, my heartbeat slowing as our wolves melded.

I blinked down at my hands, watching as raw, red welts blistered across my skin.

Ethan cursed. “Stay here. I’m going to find some ointment.”

Shutting off the tap with my wrist, I rubbed my eyes with the back of my arm. Ethan returned.

“What the hell was that?”

He blew out a breath. “Emergency restraints—handcuffs, chains, shackles, carabiners, clamps—all silver, which is highly toxic to shifters. My brothers and I keep them on hand in case any of us needs to restrain a Feral.”

Because, you know, it was totally normal to collect instruments of torture.

My stomach plummeted as Ethan uncapped a little tube and began slathering ointment over the burn.

“You’d chain them up like animals, just… listen to them scream?”

“Not my first choice. But in addition to being toxic, silver is also incredibly addictive. The clarity the pain brings, the fact that it’s one of the few things that drives back the wolf, can serve almost as a high. Our community is full of silver chasers and pain junkies, people whose wolves are so damaged they can’t be controlled any other way. They’re totally dependent on supplements, bracelets, even silver-lined rooms to keep from going off the rails. Sometimes the only hope of rehabilitation is to get them lucid, then slowly wean them off the stuff. It’s a messed-up cycle.”

I thought of the night I was attacked. Was that what had happened to me? Had an addict deprived of his fix snapped and lost control, forever turning me into a monster? Was it possible I was nothing more than collateral damage in someone else’s drama, just like I’d always been with my father?

Taping off the bandage, Ethan dropped the supplies on the bed and lowered his head. “You’d tell me, right? If you were thinking about hurting yourself?”

“Ethan—”

“No bullshit, Daisy. I’m serious. Some new Bittens self-injure as a way to deal. Borns, too. They cut or they take stuff knowing with our rapid healing abilities, the effects will be erased within hours. Problem is, it’s like trying to train a wild dog by beating it with a stick. It warps the connection with your wolf. Sometimes for good.”

I swallowed. “I’m not.”

Ethan held my eyes for a long moment, like he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe me. Finally he pushed away from the dresser, heading back into the galley kitchen.

“You want pizza?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Back to me, he grated extra gouda onto a stuffed-crust deluxe. “Guess I’m eating this tiramisu all by myself then.”

I made a strangled whining sound.

“Chocolate and zombies?”

I cued up The Walking Dead. Ethan flopped down beside me in a fitted gray tee and sleep pants, arm thrown behind my pillow. I felt a little flutter behind my belly button, the wolf preening at having him so close.

“I can hold the plate.”

“Like I’m falling for that.”

I stuck out my tongue. He tickled me and I shrieked.

“Death. Wish.”

“You’re gonna forgive me in about two seconds.”

The fork hovered in front of my lips, fragrant hints of espresso, cocoa and rich cream making my mouth water. I opened up. Chocolate exploded across my tongue. Moaning, I collapsed onto the pillow. Ethan moved over me, setting the plate aside.

“You’ve got some cocoa—”