“You wouldn’t?” Tess whispered, staring at Finn in shock.
“He won’t,” Ellen agreed. “I will. Answer me.”
Tess cleared her throat, glancing nervously around the room. “The bone.”
Ellen glanced at Hollis, then Finn.
“And you,” Tess added, her eyes narrowing. “He wants you back, Ellen. He has special plans for you.”
Ellen smiled at her. “I know he does.” And only she knew the reason why. “Do I use these?” she asked, sliding a knife from the leather strap.
“No matter what you do to me, you can’t stop him.” Tess pressed herself into the corner of the room, looking around wildly.
“I look forward to proving you wrong,” Finn said. “For now, we’re done. You’re no longer a guest here, Tess. You’re a prison
er. Until I figure out what to do with you, you’ll stay locked in the storage closet next door. Get it stripped down,” he said to Hollis. “Have Gentry and Mal work out guard rotations.” His pale gaze was hard. “Otherwise, she’s to be escorted at all times.”
Tess’s threat hung in the air, forcing her from the room—the roll of knives clutched tightly against her chest. Armed or not, she couldn’t hide from Tess’s horrible words. Her wolf was restless, pacing inside. Anxious. Trapped. And there was no way out.
She paused in the kitchen, the scent of dinner holding no interest.
“Not hungry?” Hollis asked, nudging her. “Good call. On Tess.”
She’d done the right thing, nothing more. Still, hearing the warmth in his voice was pleasing. When their gazes locked the most delectable heat traveled down her spine to pool deep inside. Hungry? At that moment, her wolf would happily have Hollis for dessert. Life rolled off of him, vitality and strength and raw masculine energy, stirring something deep inside of her. She was so used to seeing him in slacks and oxfords—an oxford she was currently enjoying—that his tight cotton undershirt was distracting. In the best way. Every muscle was hugged, showcasing just how capable and masculine he was. She couldn’t fight the anticipation she had no right to.
His puzzled grin unleashed a sudden, fierce, throb between her legs.
“Starving,” she managed.
It seemed her wolf had come up with another way to soothe their frustration. And it involved Hollis. It had been so long since she’d craved the touch of a man. But the image of Hollis’s hands on her body was oh so tempting. A temptation she could never give in to.
…
Hollis kept his mouth shut through dinner. He didn’t consider himself an exceptionally intuitive person, but even he was aware of the awkward tension saturating the air. It had something to do with Mal—nothing new there—and his mate, Olivia. Apparently, the oversexed lovebirds were having a spat. And the whole pack had to be a part of it.
“More spaghetti?” Anders, the pack’s resident cook and funny man, shoved the mountain of pasta at Mal—who ignored him.
As much as he disliked being drawn into other people’s business, he felt for Olivia. She was new to this. Her life before becoming a wolf had been fairly sheltered. But once she’d been turned, everything she thought she knew was a lie. And Mal, her mate, was an ass. Their bond was still being forged. Mal had killed Byron today—to save Olivia. An event that had obviously scared the shit out of them both.
Mal stared at Olivia.
Olivia, ramrod stiff and pale, stared at her food.
Yea, they weren’t dealing well with the day’s events. But, dammit, it was over. He was tired and hungry and irritated that this was somehow his problem. A man should be able to eat in peace without feeling like he was sitting on a powder keg. Especially after the day they’d all had. He wanted his spaghetti and beer and no more goddamn drama.
Which was going to be downright impossible because Olivia was crying. At the table. In front of everyone. Shit.
“Olivia?” Anders patted her back. “You okay?”
She sniffed and nodded.
Which was a blatant lie. If she were okay, she wouldn’t be sobbing into her dinner. He liked Olivia, even if she did have questionable choices in her mate. A mate who was sitting there, doing nothing, while she cried. He sighed, glancing Finn’s way, then Ellen’s—desperate for someone to help her.
“Does she look okay?” Ellen asked.
“No?” Anders answered, panicked.
“Killing someone is hard,” Ellen answered. “Especially the first time.”