“And you have less respect for a man’s personal space as a wolf.” But his hands buried themselves in her fur all the same.
Her wolf was up to no good.
Ellen realized it the minute Hollis touched her. The full body strokes were far more comforting than they should be. Every inch of her relaxed and welcomed his touch. Each stroke down her spine, rub along her side, or deep massage of her neck was soothing. Her wolf was calmed. Content.
Stupid animal. Her wolf ignored her insult and rested her head on Hollis’s knee.
Yes, they were lonely. Very lonely. But she’d been lonely for a long time.
Why was she reacting like this? It hardly seemed fair that Hollis would be the one to draw such a reaction from her wolf. Now? When hunting Cyrus should be the only thing that mattered.
She looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes.
He was handsome. Green eyes. Thick copper hair. A full lower lip she’d recently spent hours contemplating. And his body…pure perfection. Every last inch. And there were oh so many impressive inches. He was honed for battle—if need be. Dreaming of him, waking up tangled in the sheets and aching for release, was far better than waking up trembling in fear. For that distraction, she and her wolf were thankful.
When the wolf forced his way out, and he would, Hollis would understand what he was—and how fundamental his animal was to his being. What would he be like? Hunting? Braced for battle? Ready to face the monsters hunting them?
Cyrus was a monster, but he understood that. And abused it. At first, she’d simply reviled him, in time she’d come to fear him. He was twisted beyond redemption—so twisted that his pack suffered. Sickness set in, slowly at first. Her knowledge of herbs and medicines were useless against it. While Cyrus demanded she find a cure, she suspected there was none. Cyrus had forgotten what it was to be a wolf. His actions had tainted their bloodlines and doomed his pack. Those turned were dying within five to seven years of being bitten. Considering it was the pack, not Cyrus, that suffered, the sickness was a further injustice.
Hollis ran his hand along her side, and with a sigh, he leaned back against another rock. If her wolf turned to him, there were sound reasons. He was different from the rest. His mind and his candor. He saw her. With Hollis, she knew exactly where she stood. A gift after living so long under Cyrus roof as an Other. And he treated her with respect, not suspicion. Even if he was foolish for fighting back his wolf.
Maybe she could help with that. Since Finn was keeping her here, she and her wolf would do whatever it took to unleash his wolf. She, and her wolf, couldn’t wait to get started.
Chapter Eight
The sun was rising when they made their way back to the house. In a few hours, Hollis had a conference call with the board of directors for Robbins Pharmaceuticals and Research. They were moving forward with the second round of stem cell-leukemia trials. The first round had succeeded the research team’s expectations. Changing a few parameters, tweaking the numbers would—he believed—make an even greater difference. Everyone, including investors, were eager to get started. Which meant he needed to make a trip to RPR’s research center soon.
But RPR’s classified headquarters, in which Finn was primary investor, explored lesser known
illnesses and outbreak prevention. Part of the facility was dedicated to finding a cure for the infection.
Ellen brushed past him, attempting to push him down—again. He grinned, all thoughts of work and responsibility vanishing.
She was a playful wolf. Considering how she loved to tease in human form, it wasn’t totally unexpected. It was impressive, really. She bore the scars of torture and suffering on her skin but found joy in simple pleasures. Apparently, she found great pleasure in knocking him on his ass.
Ten years of study and research had taught him many things. Balance was important. If the wolf was happy, the man—or woman—was, too, for the most part. When the wolf felt trapped, it was a matter of time before he or she lashed out.
Ellen was more in tune with her wolf than any other member of Finn’s pack. If she said she needed to run, Hollis wasn’t going to argue with her. Listening to her mumbled pleas would have him pacing the lab, twitching to do something—to hurt someone. What was the hole? Who was William? Isabel? And what the hell had Cyrus done to them? Waking her had been the only option. For his peace of mind and hers.
Her wolf circled back to him, but he dodged her this time, laughing at her cocked head and perked ears.
“Missed,” he said, laughing at her whimper.
She barked, then ran on ahead, her tail swaying as she went.
Ellen’s earlier question resurfaced. Had he ever longed to shift? No one had asked him that before. The pack seemed to have some unspoken agreement of never mentioning it—unless it was to mess with him.
In the beginning, he’d waited—dreading it. But the moon came and went, and he didn’t shift. His friends were torn apart, suffering as they turned into animals while he’d developed a fever. His body weakened, aching and throbbing until he could scarcely move. Each and every pump of his heart was razor-sharp, every breath labored and thick. There was no escaping it. He couldn’t claw his own heart out. Delusions set in, cloaking reality. It was hell. But he was still him. A part of him was relieved.
Another part was not. Grief, cold and heavy, hung on him. The more moons that past, the deeper the grief seeped into his bones. He had a choice to make. Let the grief consume him or lock it away until it didn’t press in on him.
His friends needed him to find a cure. It took time, but eventually he grew numb to whatever was missing deep inside. Eventually, he grew accustomed to the impact of the full moon on his body, and he was able to function—somewhat.
Whatever internal wolf the rest of his pack had, he lacked. He was neither a werewolf nor a whole man, thanks to the fucking infection. In order to understand why his heart murmur prevented his shift, he’d have to understand the way the bacteria that had forever altered their cell structure worked. And if he knew how that worked, he could cure them, and it wouldn’t matter.
Why would he want to shift? He didn’t. Hadn’t in years. Until she’d questioned him. And knocked him over. What would it be like to run with her?
“Did you lose my clothes?” Ellen asked, standing in his path.