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He’d been too lost in his thoughts to realize she’d shifted. Or that he was missing her clothes. “It would appear so.” He put his hands on his hips. “Probably one of the times I was knocked down.”
She laughed then, her smile wide. “It was worth it.”
Her curves moved in time with her laugh, demanding his attention. Hollis was a man after all. She was strong, muscled and lean. But her breasts were full and round. And her nipples, jutting tightly in the cold air, made him ache. Her skin was soft—he’d touched her enough to know that. His gaze traveled lower. A flat stomach. A tattoo on her hip. A paw print.
“Hollis.” She cleared her throat. “Are you staring at me?”
He was. He’d like to keep staring at her. But then he realized something. With all the scars, it would be hard to see. Olivia had scars, but the one that changed her was different. So was his—so was the rest of the pack. Raised, pale, impossible to miss. If there was one. “Where is your origination wound?”
She frowned. “You stare at me naked and that is what you’re thinking?” She rolled her eyes and spun, heading back to the lodge. “I’m hungry.”
He moved closer, bending and stooping to explore the curves of her back, the dip above her hips, and the distracting curve of her ass. Distracting or not, there was no distinctive mark. “No bite,” he said, almost a whisper.
She glared at him. “Oh, I might bite you before the day is through.” She walked on, her hands fisted at her sides.
His mind was reeling, filtering through possibilities. Only one made sense. “You know what this means,” he murmured.
She spun, pushing against his chest with both hands. “And now you have a thousand questions. Questions I have no answers for.” She stared at him, as if weighing her words—and the risks. Slowly, warily, she leaned forward, her fingers sliding through her hair and parting it. A raised scar ran from her behind her left ear up and around her skull. “My memories begin the day I woke up with this. Before that I have only snippets, here and there. Scattered. More dream than reality.”
Her words had a chilling effect on him. Her life with the Others was all she remembered? “May I?” he asked, already sliding his fingers along the scar, then through the silk of her black hair.
“No,” she snapped, stepping away from him.
He blew out an unsteady breath, remembering the panic in her voice when she’d slept. Perhaps not knowing the specifics of her past was a good thing. Whatever had happened had resulted in massive head trauma—the scar was proof of that. He stepped closer, lifting his hand to probe the scar. “You don’t know how this happened?”
She pushed his hands away. “What did I just say?” she asked, her words growing thick. “Even if I did, why would I share it with you?”
There was pain in her eyes. And so much sorrow. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Ellen.”
She blinked rapidly, sniffing. “What you say or think doesn’t matter. You can’t upset me.”
Which was a blatant lie. Anger was Ellen’s defense mechanism—he’d learned that early on. “I’m sorry all the same.” Apologizing wasn’t easy for him. “I try not to be an ass to those I consider my friends.”
She glanced up at him. “You are an ass.”
He nodded.
“Am I your friend, Hollis?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.
He nodded again.
“Interesting,” she said, turning back to the house.
He stood there, watching her, appreciating the sway of her hips and her graceful movements. He never knew what she was thinking, even when she was speaking. One minute she was pressing herself against him and waking up an all-consuming hunger. The next she was dismissing him as inconsequential.
But that didn’t change what he saw. Or the realization that followed.
No bite. She’d been born a werewolf. Like Finn’s children, Oscar and Diana. Her drive to protect her species immediately made sense. Self-preservation was a natural instinct. And, for the first time, he understood her resistance. If he did manage to find a cure, what did that mean for her? Or Finn’s children. Before Finn’s offspring, before Ellen, finding a cure was of the utmost importance. But now… A jagged, hot coal settled in the pit of his stomach.
“Hollis?” Finn called from the porch. “You’re up early.”
“Ellen went for a run. I went with her,” he said, making his way to his Alpha—and his friend.
“I ran, you fell,” she said, slamming inside the house.
“Good morning?” Finn asked, leaning against the porch railing.
Hollis shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with her.”
