With a growl, I headbutt him, sending him straight back into unconsciousness. Slamming the trunk shut, I turn to Vance and point at Deacon’s car. “Burn it, then meet me at the packhouse.” Vance doesn’t question me, just moves to do as he is told while I slide into the driver’s seat.
The drive back to the packhouse is tense, each mile seeming to stretch on forever as I glance at Cleo on the back seat in the rearview mirror. She’s still unconscious, making me worry about her condition. Zarek paces restlessly inside me, eager to tend to our mate and unleash on Deacon.
As we drive back to my packhouse, I glance back often to see her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Her scent fills the car with that irresistible honeyjasmine fragrance of hers.
Finally, we pull up to the massive stone mansion nestled deep within our gated community that is surrounded by forest.
I carry Cleo inside, cradling her in my arms as I climb the staircase to my room. Using my foot, I push the door open to reveal a spacious primary bedroom decorated in warm, earthy tones. A fireplace dominates one wall, while floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the dark forest. In the center of the room sits my bed, which is where I take her.
I lay Cleo down gently, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before she suddenly vomits onto the sheets. “Shit,” I mutter, quickly pulling her hair back, so it doesn’t get dirty. “Hang on, love.”
I hurry to the bathroom to grab some towels and wet some washcloths in the sink. As I enter the bedroom again, I find her slumped over, laying in her vomit.
“Shower it is then,” I mutter, moving toward her.
Scooping her up, I take her into the bathroom attached. I turn on the shower, and Cleo is a dead weight in my arms, a ragdoll, making me feel sick knowing he could have done anything he wanted to her, and she would have been none the wiser.
Keeping an arm around her waist, I carefully remove her ripped top and unclip her bra, doing my best to be gentle and not let my gaze linger too long on her naked form. Her body is petite strong, her curves enticing even in her current state. Checking the water, I step in, pulling her with me. My clothes become soaked as I tip her head back under the water, rinsing her hair. She stirs, pulling faces, but not fully waking. Eventually, I am forced to sit with her, and I pull my shirt off, which is sticking to me.
Cleo leans heavily against me as I pull her closer, so she isn’t drowning under the stream of water, letting it wash over us both. Her eyes are closed, and she takes deep breaths of the steamy air as I pour shampoo into my hand and massage it into her scalp.
I take my time cleaning every inch of Cleo’s body, rinsing away dirt and dried blood, when I notice her leg is still bleeding badly. Cleo shivers, her skin prickling with goosebumps, and she mumbles incoherently as I sit up. Her face moves as she sniffs the air. “You smell nice… like vanilla and…” she trails off, mumbling incoherently.
“Thanks,” I chuckle while she continues sniffing me despite being out of it.
“Ow!” I exclaim when she suddenly bites me, her teeth sinking into my chest. I look down at her, surprised by the sudden act of aggression. Her eyes are glazed over, and I realize whatever she was given is strong; I don’t even think she realizes I am not her vile boyfriend.
“I’m hungry, but you don’t taste how you smell,” she pouts.
“Alright, alright,” I laugh, a hint of relief washing over me. “I’ll feed you, just don’t eat me.”
She buries her face in my chest, leaning against me for support as the water cascades over both of us. Within seconds, she is completely passed out again. As I carefully support Cleo in the shower, the sight of her leaves me momentarily breathless. Even in this vulnerable state, there’s an undeniable beauty about her that’s impossible to ignore. Her blonde hair, damp from the water, clings to her fair skin, framing her delicate features. Stray strands stick to her cheeks and forehead, and I find myself gently brushing them away.
Her glazed-over eyes, a striking shade of green that reminds me of the forests surrounding our territory, are closed now, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks.
Despite the heat stirring within me, I remind myself of the circumstances. She’s hurt, and vulnerable. The thought of taking advantage of her in any way repulses me. She deserves respect, care, and consent – things I’m determined to give her, regardless of how much my body aches to claim her as mine.
Holding her like this, feeling her body against mine, is both a torment and a privilege. Every nerve in my body is acutely aware of her, of the softness of her skin and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. My role right now is to protect her, not to give in to the primal urges her presence evokes.
Once she’s clean, I wrap her in a towel and carry her back to the bedroom, taking care to avoid the soiled sheets. Not having any clothes for her, I slip one of my shirts over her head and place her on the chaise when I spot a fresh trail of blood cascading down her leg. Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I pull her legs apart and kneel between her thighs. This might be the worst time for her to wake. Leaning down, I trace my tongue along the wound before watching my saliva heal the jagged gash cutting across her thigh.
I’m going to have fun explaining that tomorrow. It’s taboo, and she may see it as a direct violation or assault. Werewolfsaliva heals, and it can make the healed wolf sire them, our DNA mingling, which is why it is supposed to be something reserved for mates. Even then, it is rare, and I learn why quickly when my leg starts throbbing painfully. I suck in a breath at the pain she’s been walking around with. Luckily, it fades quickly. Though now I understand more clearly why, a more serious injury may kill the healer. I don’t think I would be able to help myself, not when it comes to her.
Now her thigh is healed, I quickly strip the bed and remake it before laying her on the fresh linen. Tucking her into bed, I admire how peaceful she looks now, her breathing steady and even. “Rest now, Cleo,” I murmur, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’ll take care of everything.” I press my lips to her cheek and want nothing more than to climb in with her, but I have to take care of the parasite in my trunk.
I make my way downstairs, my thoughts a whirlwind of concern and anger as I consider the events of the night. As soon as I reach the first floor, Vance appears in front of me. “Took care of the car,” he says, his expression dark and unreadable. “It’s gone.”
“Good,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “I left her keys out in the kitchen for you. Retrieve her car and bring it back here.” My brother nods. There’s a question in his eyes I know won’t go unanswered.
“Zayn, why didn’t you tell me? And are you going to tell her?” Vance asks. “She deserves to know.”
“Because firstly, she can’t recognize me,” I admit quietly, my chest tightening with unease. “And I would rather not put her in danger. Not now, with all the drama going on between the packs, they could use her against me.” My resolve hardens as I consider the lengths I’m willing to go to in order to protect Cleo.
“Alright,” Vance concedes, though I can tell he doesn’t fully agree with my decision. “Just… be careful.” With that, heturns and leaves the room, his footsteps echoing through the corridor.
I step outside, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. Popping the trunk, I find Deacon still passed out, the sight of him igniting a fresh surge of fury within me. Every muscle in my body tenses as I stare down at him before I drag him out of the car and down to the basement. His unconscious form is limp and heavy, forcing me to grit my teeth with the effort it takes to move him.
“Damn it,” I curse under my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. The basement door creaks open, revealing an unfinished space filled with equipment and boxes. I haul Deacon’s body over the threshold and let him drop unceremoniously down the stairs and onto the cold concrete floor.
