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Who am I kidding? He could do that if he wanted to, no matter the reason. There wouldn’t even have to be one. The worst part is I might even end up liking it. How humiliating would that be?
He can’t get on my case for getting dressed. He’s a dick, but he’s not that awful. When I get up and walk around, gathering my clothes, I see the bag sitting by the door. “You bastard.” I’m actually, genuinely irritated with him for doing that. Giving me everything I need to get out of here and not come back.
Hell, I might even try if I knew where the hell I was. How to get home. I could spend days, weeks wandering, running in the wrong direction. I don’t have a phone. I don’t have anything of my own. Does he think I’m this stupid? Like, I’ll grab the bag and run?
Well damn. Now I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay here if only to prove I’m not a complete idiot. I pull on fresh sweats and a sweater before stepping through the doorway, looking up and down the hallway.
If I go anywhere in this house, it’ll be in search of Wilde. I’m going to find him and figure out what the hell is going on. Does he mean for me to leave? If so, is he going to help me get home?
And is this it for us?
I hate that I can’t keep that question out of my head. I hate the fear behind it. Yes, my wolf is much calmer now, curled up inside me—I can practically see her, comfortable and satisfied and able to rest now. Finally. For the first time since she showed up, she can chill out for a little while and simply be.
That won’t last forever. I know it. That need is going to creep back in. The craving. I’ll end up frenzied for him all over again.
But I’ll get over it. Right? I have to. Maybe Sasha can give me something. Is there a tea for forgetting the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced? If there isn’t, she should create one. She’d probably make a fortune.
Finally, I have to move. Instinct tells me to go right, so I do, walking barefoot down the hall, past one closed door after another. There’s a grim sort of feeling down here. I wonder how many wolves have been locked away in cells like mine. Something tells me there weren’t chains on the walls for previous matings but who knows? They might do things differently in this pack.
At the end of the hall is a staircase, which I slowly climb, listening hard. For what? I don’t know. For the breathing of someone watching me, waiting for me, ready to jump out and make me pay for leaving my cell? I hate this uncertainty, but I’d be a real idiot if I wasn’t at least a little nervous.
There’s no boogeyman waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Just another two hallways, one stretching out in front of me, the other to my left. Things are a lot different up here: polished wood floors, artwork on the walls, family photos here and there. I feel small and inconsequential under the vaulted ceilings that seem to stretch up forever.
Daniel’s mansion is impressive, but this is like a freaking castle. Forget trying to get home. I’ll be lucky if I find my way out. What a shame I didn’t think to leave a trail of breadcrumbs.
After walking the length of the hall stretching in front of me, the scent of food stirs hope in my chest. I follow it, my stomach growling. When was the last time I ate?
Another scent makes its way to me, one that makes me stumble a little and second-guess myself. Their scents used to seem so similar, to the point where I could hardly tell one of them from the other. Now, after being with Wilde, I know immediately he’s not the one in the kitchen. It’s Forrest—and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.
I won’t double back and scurry downstairs like a rodent. No way. Especially now that my appetite for something more than sex has awoken.
Forrest stands with his back to a counter, scrolling through something on his phone. He doesn’t notice me right away—whatever it is must be important and engrossing. It takes a few seconds for him to notice my scent in the room, but then again, it’s a huge room.
His head snaps up at once, his mouth falling open before he grins. “Oh. Hey. There you are.”
Like he expected me to find my way up here. “Hi.” I’m dressed, but for some reason, I feel naked under his stare. There’s a knowing quality to it. He knows what went down, doesn’t he?
