Protecting the Wolf's Mate (Blood Moon Brotherhood 3)

They were leaving the refuge. She’d never wanted to be here, never acknowledged the sense of safety or peace it had given her. But it had. Even if its newness had also been slightly terrifying. While they kept an eye on her, they gave her certain freedoms. She’d discovered things like the internet, television, and phones. That a few clicks of a keyboard could give her the answers it would have taken her hours to find buried in books was incredible. But phones, were too much like a tether—invasive and obnoxious. She’d continued to lose hers, hoping Finn would give up on the idea of her carrying one. He didn’t.

Cyrus would have punished her for losing a phone. He enjoyed punishing her. And dictating her days. From the food she ate to the clothes she wore, freedom hadn’t been part of her world.

If her nerves were on edge and her wolf was skittish now—sitting in an airplane with couches and champagne, televisions and computers, overstuffed recliners and classical music piped into the spacious cabin was unnerving—she had good reason. Why did anyone need such extravagance on an airplane? Why d

id a person need an airplane?

“Wanna lie down?” Mal grinned at his mate. He wasn’t suggesting a nap. “You know where the bedroom is.”

“Mal, stop,” Olivia whispered, her cheeks going read.

Bedroom? On a plane? Ellen curled into one of the chairs and stared out the window. She had no interest in flying. Or being trapped in something that would take her off the ground and into the sky. This took losing control to a whole new level for her. She ran her palms along her pants, wiping away the sweat.

“You okay?” Olivia asked.

She nodded.

“You sure?” she pushed. “You look tense.”

“She always looks tense,” Mal quipped.

Ellen ignored him. “I’m still astounded by the excess of your pack.” She pointed around the cabin. “Is such luxury necessary?”

Mal laughed. “Pretty sure the words ‘luxury’ and ‘necessary’ don’t belong in the same sentence.”

Olivia pushed against his chest. “Finn is a wealthy man. His family owns Dean Automotive. And they have all sorts of investments.”

“He works hard to stay that successful. There’s a lot riding on his success—beyond planes, big houses, and nice things,” Hollis sounded off, ever defending his Alpha.

“Like all the latest scientific and research gizmos?” Mal asked, grinning at Hollis. “You’re saying Cyrus isn’t a fan of living things up? With all the black-market dealings and silent partnerships he’s involved with, he can sure as hell afford it.”

“Can he? I’ve no knowledge of such things. I’ve only seen him spend money on useful things.” Useful things equated to dangerous things. Advanced targeting weapons and traps. Security to reinforce the numerous pack houses Cyrus has spread around the country. Things to make the Others deadlier and more fearsome. If he’d taken to buying fancy planes and technological equipment, he’d never told her.

“What would that asshole consider useful?” Mal snapped.

She bit back, “Not airplanes with bedrooms.” Mal’s arrogance made it easy to keep what she knew to herself.

Olivia shot her a sympathetic glance as she pulled Mal aside. Once Mal’s focus was centered on his mate, he forgot Ellen’s very existence. She watched, fascinated by the change in the pair. The power of their bond was evident. Like Finn and Jessa. If all chose so well, their pack would remain strong and true.

As long as Cyrus didn’t get to them. A remembered ache tugged at her chest. She’d glimpsed some of the Others’ arsenal, knew the time and energy Cyrus exerted to create truly dreadful weapons. Weapons he would gladly use on Finn’s pack.

“What are you thinking about?” Hollis sat in the chair opposite her, his elbows resting on his knees.

What would he say if she told him the truth? She worried over Finn and his pack. Cyrus’s latest creation—larger and more accurate silver-coated bullet. She’d had to help dig it out, a not so easy feat. Cyrus had her document its effects, tracking the patient and the wound. The tissue damage was so extensive it was hard to stitch. And now Cyrus was developing a syringe-like bullet, one that would inject a lethal dose of liquefied silver and cyanide directly into the bloodstream. There would be no coming back from that. If he’d figured out to make the plunger release work, the rounds could be in use now.

But if that were the case, Byron would have used them on Brown and Tess. Thankfully, he hadn’t.

Telling Hollis or Finn about Cyrus’s plans—his weapons and reinforcement and targets—would change the pack. Finn’s pack wanted revenge, but they weren’t consumed by it. They put family and pack first. Lived day in and day out as a strong and supportive pack. Knowing the details and lengths Cyrus was willing to go to destroy the family they’d created would tarnish what they had. But it would also help them prepare.

They would need that. And, considering the way they’d treated her the last few months, she owed them the truth.

“Ellen?” His hand stroked her forearm.

His touch jolted her back to the present. And made her insides quiver. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me,” she muttered, curling farther into herself.

He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re still angry with me about last night?”

She glared at him, staring pointedly at his cheek. “There is no mark. I’ll hit harder next time.”