Broken Bond (Claimed by Wolves 2)

“I don’t even remember. Did I hurt anybody?” The question comes out small and frightened. God, how could I ever forgive myself if I hurt one of these men while I was unconscious?

“You didn’t,” Ridge says firmly. “We were careful.”

I let out a sigh of relief and nod. At least there’s some good news to come out of this. I shove the covers away, glad to see the smudges have disappeared without fully forming into marks on my skin, and swing my legs over the side of the bed. When I stand, a rush of lightheadedness makes me sway. Archer leaps forward, wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me.

“I’ll help her get dressed,” he tells Ridge. “If you want to go get food and coffee ready.”

Trystan bares his teeth and looks ready to argue, but Ridge grabs his shoulder and shoves him toward the door. “Yeah. Sounds good. Let us know if you need anything.”

After they’re gone, Archer points to the bed, keeping one arm wrapped around me. “Here, sit. I’ll get some clean clothes so I can help you change.”

I shake my head and latch on to his arm. “No, I think I’d like to shower first, if that’s okay. I feel gross after…” I wave vaguely at the bed, indicating the fact that I’ve lain there for three days, sweating like a pig through my transformation. I feel so gross, I’m worried he can smell me.

Luckily, Archer doesn’t need me to put that concern into words. With a nod, he secures his arm around my waist and walks me to the bathroom, moving slow so that I don’t keel over.

My legs are weak from being in bed for days, and the tingling in my feet makes it feel like I’m walking on pins. Archer takes as much of my weight as he can without physically lifting me off my feet, and I lean against him gratefully. I don’t know how he seems to anticipate my needs the way he does. He has a deep sense of empathy and compassion, but the way he reads me goes beyond even that sometimes. It’s like he can peer directly into my brain.

In the small, narrow bathroom, Archer

deposits me on the toilet seat and then turns on the water to let it get warm. While he works on the water temperature, I slide my arms out of my t-shirt, fumbling with the effort. My limbs aren’t quite up to speed yet on the whole “being awake” thing. I finally give up and bend forward, sliding my hands through the neck of the shirt so I can rest my aching head in my palms.

“Too much, too soon?” Archer asks gently.

I lift my head to find it’s even heavier than before. “I got into an argument with the shirt.”

“I’ll fix it.” There’s a soft smile in his words, and just the sound of his voice soothes me on a soul-deep level.

The hiss of the shower provides background noise as he helps me out of my dirty clothes. My t-shirt and shorts are both damp with perspiration and smell horrendous. I’m too exhausted to be embarrassed, even when he peels my sweaty underwear down my thighs. Not a damn thing about this is sexy, and there’s nothing I can do about it. My body just went through a battle, and I have a feeling I’m lucky to be alive.

When I’m fully undressed, Archer straightens and holds out both hands, his gaze on my face as if studiously avoiding my naked body. “Up. I’ll help you in.”

I take his hands and let him haul me to my feet, but I stumble over the pins and needles still working themselves out in my legs. He catches me in his arms with a small laugh. “Whoa, there.”

Burying my face in his t-shirt, I take a shaky breath. Fuck, I hate feeling this helpless. “I don’t think I can do this on my own,” I admit quietly. “I feel really weak.”

“What if I get in with you?” He pulls back just enough to look down at me, concern in his gaze. “Are you all right with that?”

I nod, gratitude rushing up in my chest. “Yes. Thank you. That would be good.”

But as he strips off his clothes, I wonder what the hell I was thinking. I mean, I guess my mind was on the night that Ridge stepped into the shower with me to help me through a panic attack. He kept his clothes on then, though to be fair, I was fully clothed as well. It’s silly of me to think Archer would get into the shower in his clothes to help me wash off, but that’s exactly what I assumed when I accepted his help.

Instead… he strips nude, baring every last inch of his body to me.

Seeing him naked reminds me of what was happening before the darkness swallowed me up and the transition began.

We were all on the bed. All five of us. Me and the four gorgeous, masculine shifters. Their hands were on my body, their mouths on parts of me no one had ever seen or touched before. Heat flashes over me as Archer takes my hands again to help me into the shower.

He’s so beautiful. Golden skin shifts over thick muscles, and his full lips and high cheekbones make him look almost regal. As he holds my arm and carefully navigates me into the shower, all I can think about is what else he’s done with those hands on my skin.

I’m still weak and shaky, so I keep one hand firmly on the shower wall and the other on his shoulder. The water cascades over me, warm and inviting, and Archer picks up the soap and a rag, lathering it up to wash me. Then he gets a firm grip on my elbow to keep me from falling and begins to run the rag over my body.

He starts with my face, gently brushing the soapy rag over my hairline, careful to avoid my eyes. He moves lower, massaging my neck and shoulders with a bit more strength, and I groan at the way he kneads my aching muscles.

Desire blooms inside me as the rag slides lower. Even though there’s cloth between his fingertips and my skin, I close my eyes and lean into his touch when his palm crests over my breast. He rubs over each one in turn, the washcloth chafing over my nipples. As he moves lower, I open my eyes, breathing harder, feeling more turned on than I should right now, given how weak and exhausted I am. I wonder if he can sense it, but then I answer my own question when my gaze drifts lower down his body.

He’s just as turned on as I am.

But Archer, ever the gentleman, stoically ignores the hardening of his cock as he keeps washing me. His touch is gentle but obviously without sexual intent, despite the fact that his hand on my body is doing a lot more to me than getting me clean. He focuses entirely on the task at hand, keeping our bodies several inches apart.