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He tried to ignore the disappointment that shot through him.
A crumpled-up shadow in the corner caught his eyes. He stumbled to his feet and shuffled over, carefully bending and picking up a pair of sweats. He glanced down at the ones he was wearing and then back at the ones in his hand.
Lifting them to his nose, he took a quick sniff. They didn’t smell like orange blossoms at all. There was a hint of wolf and magic.
Oh, that was right.
He remembered the mated pair that had been part of the group who first found him in the warehouse, the curvy little witch and her scowling mate, who wouldn’t let her anywhere near him.
Which had been smart.
Caden had been out of his mind with terror and pain. He hadn’t known if they were there to hurt him more or not, and he’d been trapped, chained to the wall. Naked and vulnerable. Unable to speak or shift.
If she had gotten too close, he probably would have hurt her.
He let the sweats drop back down to the floor and spotted a door that was partially ajar. He moved over to it, grateful to find a bathroom.
After relieving himself, he washed his hands and then cupped them to hold as much water as he could. He drank and drank and drank until the fire in his throat was abated.
Sighing, he leaned his hands on the counter and dropped his head. He was so tired, his brain foggy and sluggish. He should just go back to bed. It was the middle of the night. The man who smelled like orange blossoms was probably asleep somewhere in this place.
Just as he headed back to bed, he heard a thump that paused his steps, his instincts flaring. Other people were awake. He strained much harder than he should have needed to to try and catch any words being said, but it was all indistinguishable.
He made his way out of the bedroom slowly, unsure if he should hide or confront whoever was out there. In the end, he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until he was sure he and the human who lived here were safe.
He stood in the hallway outside his bedroom, trying to orient himself, and jolted hard when somebody screamed. Goose bumps shot down Caden’s spine, nearly dragging him under into memories of other screaming voices, pleas for help. Begs for mercy.
Sometimes his, sometimes the others in the Bad Place.
He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, centering himself with the comforting scents around him. He wasn’t in that place anymore. Wherever he was, it had to be better than where he’d been.
He made his way down the hallway, following the sounds of raised voices and the scent of blood. It was faint, but it was there, and it started riling his jaguar inside him despite the weakening effects of the collar.
Wherever he was, the place was enormous. The hallway was long and filled with multiple bedrooms, but the one he’d been put in was on the end. He crept forward and found a jaw-dropping living room that had a twelve-foot ceiling, the widest and most comfortable-looking couch he’d ever seen, an enormous TV mounted on a wall between two sets of bookshelves and over an enormous electric fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows taking up another wall.
He stepped closer and realized they were really high up, a whole city down below them.
It was breathtaking, but a man screaming, “I didn’t do anything, you fuckers!” stopped him from staying there and appreciating the view.
The voice was loud and obstinate, but the scent of fear was thick in the air, tickling at the primitive parts of Caden’s brain and triggering his own fear once more.
With small, reluctant steps, he made his way to the other side of the large apartment. He forced himself to keep moving, even though he desperately wanted to go back to his room and hide.
He didn’t use to be this way. Sure, he was cautious as he moved from pack to pack, but he’d never doubted his ability to protect himself before.
But after months of being in that place, he could barely force himself to keep moving. He had to though. He could smell orange blossoms just beneath the blood and fear. It wasn’t the man with the hazel eyes who was screaming in terror, but he was in there. He was in that room, and Caden and his jaguar couldn’t leave without making sure he was okay.
He was almost there. Just a few more steps. He could do this.
The door had been left half-open. As he approached, he heard that familiar deep voice, so smooth and calming. “Don’t bother denying it. We know what you’ve been doing.”
“You’ve got the wrong guy,” the stranger said beseechingly. “Just let me go. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”
That was a lie.
Caden could hear it in the off-rhythm beat of his heart and smell it in the souring of his scent. Whoever that man was, he wouldn’t slink off quietly.
Pressing his back to the wall, Caden carefully peered around the edge of the doorway to get a look inside. It was some sort of office. There was dark wood flooring and a small navy couch in front of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
