No scent of Cyrus.
She lay absolutely still, letting the here and now replace the hellish remains of her nightmare. That was all this was, a terrible dream. No memory, not nightmare. Still, she could wake from it. No cold. No moisture. No difficulty breathing. Her fingers moved, tracing the skin of her forearm. She wasn’t chained. Her arms weren’t pinned overhead.
“Ellen?” the voice again.
The fingers that encircled her wrist were familiar. But they weren’t offering her support. They were taking her pulse. Odd that such a clinical action eased her panic.
“What?” she snapped, knowing exactly who was speaking to her. “What is it, Hollis?” She rolled onto her side, away from him, tearing herself free from his assessment. Breathing was easier now. Thoughts of Cyrus, the hole, pain, and fear fading. “Leave me.” Breathing. Calm and steady breathing.
“You were talking in your sleep.” Ever calm and emotionless.
She sat up, glaring at him over her shoulder. Unless she was screaming, he had no business coming into her bedroom. “Perhaps you should stay out of my bedroom. Then I wouldn’t bother—” She realized she’d passed out in the lab. Again. Not the sanctity of her bedroom. “I disturbed you?” That was why he’d woken her.
His green eyes studied her, like the specimen she was to him. Since her humiliating attempt to seduce him in the shower, he was more reserved than ever. Still, she’d caught him looking at her more than once. “You seemed agitated.”
“Then the answer is yes, I disturbed you.” She pushed off the floor, tugging on the sweater she’d used for a pillow, and crossed her arms over her waist. “What time is it?”
“Two. I think.” He turned back to the table covered with his laptop, files, computer printouts, and an ancient volume of folklore he insisted on using as a reference. He was always hunting, always seeking. His brain was never quiet. It was exhausting and oddly fascinating. Of all Finn’s pack, Hollis was the only one she didn’t understand. As frustrating as his refusal to consider nonscientific solutions was, she respected his ability to remain calm and analytical under the most challenging of circumstances.
He fascinated her.
More so with each passing day. Maybe it was her wolf, sensing something more. Or maybe it was the lingering effects of that embrace in the shower. He should never have held her close, never have acted as if her well-being mattered. But, for whatever reason, she liked that he saw her as the woman she was, not an enemy. When she was with him, she liked feeling like a woman.
She studied the man. He wore his daily uniform: a starched button-down oxford and pressed slacks—as if he were on his way to an important business meeting somewhere. For a man so immaculately dressed, his hair was as tousled as ever. She smiled, resisting the urge to smooth the thick copper hair. Always rumpled, it was if he’d lost his comb or forgotten to brush it altogether. “Two in the morning? Or the afternoon?”
He glanced at his watch. “Morning.”
She chuckled. “You weren’t sure?”
Green eyes settled on her. “No. I was working.”
His curiosity was back. The few instances they were alone, he’d begun to question her about what he’d witnessed in the field—what had happened between her and Byron. She’d yet to give him a straight answer. “Always. You are an odd man,” she murmured. “Your poor wolf must resent you for that.”
His gaze remained on her, his expression as guarded as ever. “He might. If he existed.”
Ellen rolled her eyes. “You have a wolf, Hollis. You are a wolf, whether you like it or not. A heart defect can’t stop that.” She dismissed the ailment Hollis insisted prevented his ability to shift. There was more to it than that, there had to be. Shifting would likely cure him from his heart murmur. But that was one topic Hollis refused to discuss with her. Or anyone.
His left eye twitched, signaling his irritation. It was a small thing, but it was enough. She enjoyed these small victories, pleased to know that he wasn’t as indifferent to her as he pretended. But then, she remembered just how indifferent he’d been in the shower. It—he—had taken her breath away.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “First, I disturb your work, then I insult your pride. Tell me, are you angry with me?” She leaned against the table, watching him closely.
“I’m not angry,” he grumbled.
She grinned. “You’re a terrible liar.”
He sighed, his forehead creasing as he frowned. “You want me to be angry?”
“I want you to react,” she countered.
With a simple shake of his head, he dismissed her and turned back to his work. One long finger trailed over notes, handwritten in red.
“Is that Jessa’s file?” She came around, leaning over his shoulder to read their notes on the Alpha mate’s file. One note jumped out at her. The same note, every time. Hollis’s script was tiny and careful: “Compare bone with blood samples of J. and baby.”
The bone. The bone Cyrus wanted more than anything and must never get. In her time here, she’d heard no talk of it—had no idea where it was kept. But Finn and his pack were smart enough to guard that information. As long as it never fell into the Others’ hands, there was no cause to worry.
“It is.” Hollis never offered up more information than was requested. It was tedious. But she’d learned to accept it was the only power he wielded in this pack. Since he refused to fight the defect that prevented him from becoming his wolf, information mattered most to him. Not just acquiring it but understanding its significance to the smallest detail.
“Still looking for a biological explanation?” Her restlessness had returned, making Hollis easy game. Hollis ran a hand through hi