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“It would have made no difference.”
“So you and William weren’t like this?” he asked, oddly pleased.
“No. In time we grew together. But our bond was formed to align the packs.” Her breath hitched and she paused before asking, “Do you want to know this?”
“Yes.” Did he? Not that what he wanted mattered. Here, in the dark, tangled up in her, might make it easier.
“What I remember is…chopped up. You saw most of it.” She rested her head on his chest. “I have no way of knowing what, if any, of the images before William’s death are real.”
He traced his fingers through her hair, running a finger along her scar. “Do they change? What you see, I mean?”
“Very little,” she murmured, running a finger down his chest. “I’ve often wondered if my wolf keeps things from me. She’s very protective.”
But did that mean her wolf was hiding something worse than what he’d seen? “She should protect you. Wolves do that, don’t they?”
“You tell me.” Her voice was low. “You can’t deny yours exists now, can you? I saw him. In your eyes. Pushing to get out.”
He shook his head. He knew very little about the wolf inside of him, except… “He’s protective of you.”
“As he should be. Assure him I can take care of myself.” But there was no bite to her words.
But her words had him, and his wolf, bracing for an argument. As brave and strong as she was, protecting her was nonnegotiable. He knew that now. “Neither of us doubt you can. But now you’ll never have to.”
She burrowed closer, her hand splaying wide on his chest. “I like that. Us. You’ve already accepted him.” Her palm was warm.
Why the image of her burned palms cropped up now was a mystery. But she was touching him, and he needed to know. “Can you read me now?” As close as he wanted them to be, it was unnerving to think of her getting into his head without his knowledge.
She stiffened in his hold. “You think I would do that to you? Without your consent?”
“No,” he whispered. Consent was important to her. And, from what her hellish memories had revealed, consent had rarely played a role in her life with Cyrus and the Others. His mind raced, trekking through the sensory stimulus, broken conversations, and inescapable torment she’d suffered. One image, Cyrus—blood dripping from his mouth—smiling down at her. She’d hated him then. Hated herself for the power she was giving him.
“What is it?” she asked, her fingers gently grasping his chin and forcing him to see her. “Your mind is wandering.”
There were times he wished he wasn’t a scientist. Maybe then he could turn off the constant questions and curiosity, the need for answers and truth, even when it wasn’t what he wanted. But her reaction was unshakable. His wolf was prowling around, raging, for reasons Hollis didn’t fully understand.
“Hollis,” she whispered. “Tell me.”
“Cyrus.” He cleared his throat, hating the way her gaze fell from his. “He…he did something to you—”
“He did a great many things.” She stiffened. “I was of use to him, you see. First as a healer for the pack, then a potential mate when his pack began to weaken—I’d birthed a child, I could do it again. But I didn’t, I couldn’t. So he punished me. When he tired of that, he lent me to Byron. But he could never truly let me go. Or kill me. He needed my blood.” Her voice faltered, cracking.
Coldness seeped into his blood—his bones. “What do you mean?” He turned on the lamp then, needing to see her.
She blinked, shielding her face, blinking rapidly.
“Why did he need your blood?” He pushed now.
“My blood makes him stronger.” She couldn’t look at him. “That’s why he wants Finn’s children. They were born wolves. Their blood is pure. Like mine.”
“Jesus Christ,” he ground out. “What are you telling me? He ingested your blood?”
“In the beginning. Later, with an IV.” She slipped from the bed and walked to the window. “I was collared, or I could have fought him. Silver. It burns.” Her hand crept up, stroking her neck. “He kept me weak. If I’d been stronger, I would have stopped him—”
He was up then, barely controlling his fury, and spinning her to face him. “You would have died.” He tilted her head back, forcing her to look at him. “You said we were fated. That means you survived for me.” His forehead rested against hers. “You can stop him now. Let me help you.”
She stared into his eyes for so long he worried he’d said something wrong. He was new to this. All of it. Talking, sharing, and feeling. And he suspected he was failing, epically.
Her hands slid up to cradle his face. “You believe me?” It was a whisper. “Believe, a little, in magic?”
