All that mattered now was getting somewhere safe soon. Otherwise, they were both as good as dead. He’d like to think they’d left the Others behind, but he knew better. He had to head south, or they’d end up in the ocean. And while there was a hell of a lot of land to cover, there were plenty of Others. If the Others wanted to find him, it wouldn’t be hard to do.
Would they be looking for Olivia, too? That was a separate question. He’d like to think she was a victim of circumstance versus a specific target, but he couldn’t be sure. He wouldn’t search Olivia’s memories, even if it might explain her abduction. Violating her privacy and trust didn’t sit well with him or his wolf.
Neither did her unusual silence.
“Your brother,” he said, waiting for her to catch up to him. “Why would he deal with werewolves?”
She frowned at him. “He didn’t.”
“The men keeping us in those cages? The man that stabbed you? Werewolf. Like us.”
“Right.” Her eyes widened, the sheen of tears startling him. “Werewolves. Like us.”
“Jesus.” He’d made her cry. “Don’t cry.”
She wiped frantically, sniffing and turning to hide her face. “I’m trying to stop.”
Way to make things worse. He was an asshole, but sometimes he forgot just how good at it he was. Considering her life had been ripped to shreds in a forty-eight-hour period, crying was a normal reaction. He could try to be less of a dick. “You can cry,” he murmured.
“Oh good,” she said, sniffing, her breathing shallow and broken.
He tried to turn her, to hold her, but she shrugged him off. “Olivia?”
She shook her head, knocking his hand away a second time.
“Dammit,” he growled, tugging her into his arms and holding her close. “Cry.” He closed his eyes, her silent sobs chipping away at his forced indifference. Guilt crushed in on him, forcing him to explain. “If I hadn’t bitten you—turned you—you would have died. My wolf wouldn’t let you die.”
She clung to him, her soft curves and sweet scent a temptation he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to ignore. But he held her until the tears ended and her breath was coming in hiccups.
“She likes your wolf,” Olivia said.
“She who?” he asked.
“M-my wolf.” Her voice wobbled then.
“Shit,” he growled out. “Tell her he’s an asshole.”
Olivia laughed. “We both know that’s not true.” She wasn’t crying anymore, but she wasn’t letting go of him.
Then again, his hold didn’t seem to be loosening, either.
“Mal?” she whispered.
“Olivia?” He buried his nose in her hair to draw her scent deep.
“Can I ask you some questions?”
“Some?” he asked, willing himself to let go. His hold didn’t ease.
“Some,” she repeated, her arms sliding around his waist.
He liked her sigh, the way her breath fanned across his chest. “Two.”
“Two?” she repeated.
“You can ask me two questions,” he clarified. They needed to keep moving. If he could find a phone—then what? Was he going to call Finn? Like the bastard would come. Chances are he was knee-deep in puppies and too busy making more to give a shit about him.
“Do you have a mate?” she asked.