Now he knew where her scars came from. He’d never fucking forget. No matter how badly he wanted to.
Cyrus. That smile. Motherfucker.
Fury consumed him. He stared blindly at the ceiling overhead, fighting back nausea and hate. Lungs aching, fighting for air, fighting against the pressure on his chest. Heart twisting sharply, clamping down so tight he saw stars. Skin tingling, tightening, stretching until he knew it would split. The snap of bones. The tearing of muscle. His body seized. Twisting, snapping, and forcing a groan from deep inside.
…
She lay, sprawled across his chest, fulfilled and sleepy. Her wolf had chosen well.
When bits and pieces of Hollis’s life reached her, she welcomed them, getting lost in what she assumed it meant to be a human. The images swept her away. His life had been so different from hers—not necessarily easier, just different. He’d had parents who adored him, but that hadn’t made the bullying he’d endured any easier. Or eased the pain he still felt at losing his big brother, Sean, when his helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan. It had hit Hollis hard, prompting him to take a midterm trip with Finn and a few college buddies. That trip changed their lives forever—that trip was when Finn found the bone.
The attack, through Hollis’s eyes, was horrific. Finn was his best friend, the only person who’d accepted Hollis just as he was. To be attacked by him, to see Finn crazed, shifting, hunting down his friends through Hollis’s eyes was nightmarish. Horrible.
“Hollis?” Ellen whispered, tilting back to see him, needing to offer whatever comfort she could.
One look told her he was gone. His body was here, but his mind not. Clouded eyes, clenched jaw, harsh breathing. Something was wrong. His muscles began to spasm. Neck taut, corded, and strained. Head pressed back and jaw locked tight. Very wrong. Even his breath irregular and harsh. “Hollis,” she pleaded, shaking him.
Her palms rested on his chest, invading his mind for answers. What was happening to him?
What she saw… No. No. He knew. The realization slammed into her, enraging her—and stealing the calm of their mating. He knew. Her secrets. Her shame. Her past would haunt him forever. Nothing she did or said could erase it from his mind. A chill stole over her as his hands slid from her, grabbing fistfuls of the comforter as his body seized, the muscles clenching and tightening.
Whatever they’d shared was tainted now. Her wolf slunk away, curling in on herself and leaving her to cope on her own.
“Fuck you, too.” She growled, sliding from the bed. “He needs us. Stop being a coward.”
A strangled sound tore from his throat. The change? Even if it was natural for their kind, could he survive it? There was nothing natural about the odd jut of his chin or how his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Hollis.” She ran a hand over his chest, refusing to give in to the panic of her wolf.
The rasp of his breath was thick, choked. Dammit. The muscles of his chest continued to tense and roll beneath her touch.
“Listen to me.” Her voice was steady. Her shame, memories, and past didn’t matter now. Not now. Only he did. His heart shuddered. Irregular. Rapid pulse—too rapid.
“It’s not real. None of it is real.” she spoke softly. “Can you hear me?”
His head turned toward her, but his body wasn’t responding.
“Breathe.” Softer. Almost a whisper. Tearing his hand free from the comforter, she pressed his hand against her chest. “My heart.” She leaned closer, running her nose along his temple. “My scent.” Her eyes were burning as she kissed his lips. “You’re here. Safe. With me.”
A ragged breath in. Deep. Then out. In.
His eyelids fluttered and then his body slumped against the mattress.
“Good,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “Slow. Be easy.” She perched on the edge of the bed, hoping. It took time but, slowly, the hammering pulse in his throat grew steadier.
His hand clasped her wrist. Tightly.
“I’m here.” Startled by the ferocity of his grip and freaking the fuck out, but there.
How did this work? This connection was unlike anything she’d had with William. They’d never shared memories—that she remembered. Could he read her now that they were mated? Was it based on touch? If so, it would be best for him not to touch her. Not when her wolf was frantic, pacing, whimpering—fearful of losing him. He needed strength, not cowardice.
Not that she was feeling strong at the moment.
His gaze cleared, fixing on her, but his breathing remained unsteady. And the weight of his gaze was crushing.
She eased her hand from his hold and stood, at a loss for what came next.
The longer he lay there, staring at her, the more anxious she became. While his breathing steadied and his pulse returned to a non life-threatening rate, she was fighting the urge to run. Far, far away.