He was glad of the shadows then. Naked, chained, and scarred to hell, he’d only upset her more. “A belt?” he repeated.
She shook her head. “No.”
His gaze traveled over her. Boots. Jeans. A T-shirt. A cotton hoodie. “You need to stop the bleeding.”
She stilled, her gaze meeting his. She nodded slowly. “Okay.” But she didn’t move. Clearly, she saw enough of him to react. The picture he presented was hardly reassuring. Her breathing grew thready, her heart kicked into overdrive… Which wouldn’t help the bleeding problem.
“Now,” he snapped, which pissed off his wolf.
She jumped, lifting her hands from the wound. Her palms were wet with blood.
“Lose the shirt,” he said. “Tie it tight, above the wound.”
She blinked, sitting forward to shrug out of her hoodie. She moved quickly, her gaze returning to him again and again. “Are you…are you okay?” she asked.
He ran a hand over his shaggy head. “I’m fucking great, lady.”
She glared at him then, her posture going rigid and her eyes narrowing. She tugged her shirt over her head, seemingly oblivious to her now half-naked state.
Mal, however, was not. Neither was his wolf. He went from disinterested to fully aware of every single damn breath she took and every freaking move she made. Her skin was creamy, the curve of her breasts spilling in abundance over her bra downright breathtaking. What he wouldn’t give to lose himself, face between those gorgeous boobs, the rest of him buried deep inside. His wolf agreed, focusing so intently that Mal was unable to see or hear or think about anything but the woman in the cage.
She twisted her T-shirt and wrapped it around her thigh, crying out as she tugged the fabric tight. She sobbed, falling to her side.
The wolf growled, forgetting about the collar that trapped them. Mal felt it, too—the urge to go to her, even if it didn’t make one damn bit of sense. But the tourniquet wasn’t tight enough. Her blood was still dripping. “Tighter,” he barked.
She did as he said, her movements short and jerky.
“Put on your hoodie,” he growled. She was pure temptation, even laying there gasping on the floor. He didn’t want to think about Cyrus or The Big Guy looking at her. Hell, it was better for himself and his wolf if she covered up. Because right now, even chained to the fucking wall, his wolf was barely under control.
...
Olivia lay still, her eyes pressed shut. Maybe this was all some sort of nightmare. Maybe Chase had put something into her drink. Her brother had done it before—he had a weird sense of humor. But this didn’t feel like that. This felt real. And it hurt more than anything had ever hurt.
Still, opening her eyes meant acknowledging where she was.
In a cage. In some basement, tunnel, or underground.
She had no idea where, or what was happening, or why it was happening to her. Only that she was completely alone and scared. No, not scared. Terrified.
She didn’t know what to fear more: the guy in the cage beside her her, or what could come through the door next. She glanced at the man, mostly hidden in shadows. The top of his head and face were visible enough. His eyes remained fixed on her, unnerving, unwavering. The bridge of his nose was swollen, and the skin on his cheek was discolored.
“Do you know where we are?” she asked, hating the silence of the room and the screaming in her brain. She had to calm down, had to figure this out…
“No,” he answered. “Bleeding’s slowed.”
She frowned. “How do you know?” There was no possible way he could know that.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I know. Stay still.”
“Not like I can go anywhere,” she muttered, bristling at his tone. She placed her hand on the floor, preparing to push up.
“Stay still,” he repeated. “You move, you’ll start bleeding again.”
She lay still. “So, you are a doctor?”
“No.”
“But I should listen to you?” she asked, her control slipping. “Some guy in a spooky cage with a chip on his shoulder?”