He stopped, his irritation obvious. “I’m not dumping you anywhere.” He looked—hurt?
He wasn’t going to ditch her? Why not? It was obvious he didn’t like her. Not that she wasn’t thankful for all he’d done. “I didn’t mean—”
“We have a lot of ground to cover today.” He started walking again.
She followed, trying to calm the torrent of images, conversations, emotions, and flashes swirling in her brain. Snippets of conversation she’d never had. Smiling faces of men, people she’d never seen. Sex. She stopped walking. She’d never had sex, but she felt the rough scrape of nails on her sides. She blew out a deep breath, looking around her. All she saw was Mal’s retreating back. She walked on, her mind jumping ahead to taking a shot. The burn of whiskey down her throat.
Throat. Panic skittered across her skin, every nerve drawn tight. Having her throat cut. No, torn out by a wolf. Quick bring-her-to-her-knees pain blinded her. A big white wolf. She grabbed her throat, the image so real and intense, and leaned against a tree for support.
“Olivia?” Mal was there, his hands gripping her shoulders.
That voice was back in her head. It said Mal’s name. She pressed her hands over her ears.
“What is it?” he asked. “What hurts?”
“Nothing hurts. I… There’s a voice, talking in my head…” She glanced at him.
His eyes narrowed. “Saying?”
She frowned. “I…I can’t tell. It’s muffled or far away—” She broke off then blew out a deep breath.
He let go of her, stepping back.
“Wait. I tell you I hear a voice and you ask me what it’s saying. No worry over the fact that I’m hearing a voice.” She stepped forward, her patience snapping. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s your wolf,” he said. He wouldn’t look at her.
She wished she were still leaning against the tree. “My wolf?” she whispered.
He nodded.
“What does that mean?” she asked. “My wolf? I don’t have a wolf. You—” She shook her head. “And the rest of it?”
“The rest of it?”
“The man with the red hair? And the white wolf? Why am I seeing things that didn’t happen to me?”
“It’s me,” he said. “From the bite. That’s how I know what Chase looks like. You had a cat named Fudge, hate brussels sprouts, and loved your mother more than anyone else. And when I kissed you, you didn’t want me to stop.” A low growl edged into his last words, making her toes curl and her heart thump. “Keep moving.”
His words set her in motion, without thought. He was in her head? Because he bit her. She frowned. It was all too much. If they’d stop walking long enough for him to clue her in on everything, then she wouldn’t keep slowing them down.
Mal had his throat torn out? There was more, waiting at the edges of her subconscious. Might be best not to let it all in at once, not yet. It might be better to come to terms with the fact that she’d been bitten by a…a werewolf before she started digging into Mal’s psyche.
Worrying about what was happening to her was no good. Did she have every reason in the world to freak out? Yes. Yes, she did. But it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make this easier. Panic hovered, ready to take over, if she let it. She sucked in a deep breath, clearing her mind of all the images and sensations she couldn’t wrap her mind around—not yet. All she needed t
o know right now was Mal had saved her. And now, he was taking care of her. She heard the voice in her head then—her wolf—and paused. He would always take care of her because, according to her wolf, he was important.
Chapter Six
Mal glanced back over his shoulder again. Olivia was still following him. Quiet. Too quiet. She was frowning, a deep crease between her brows, and it worried him. He vaguely remembered how it had felt, being newly turned. It was confusing—disorienting.
He’d wanted to save her, not change her. He wasn’t Alpha material—that was all on Finn. No one should lean on him, follow his orders, or look to him for leadership. But now she did, even if she didn’t know it yet. And there was no way to undo it. He hoped she’d shift her loyalty to Finn when they reconnected. But his wolf wasn’t too fond of that idea.
The wolf was perfectly clear what it was after: Olivia. For the first time, Mal couldn’t give his wolf what he wanted, and he knew it was going to make life difficult. Nothing like having someone in your head, pushing, second-guessing, doubting, and making him do things he wouldn’t do on his own.
Like turning Olivia.
No, dammit, he wouldn’t have stood by and let her die. Blaming his wolf was pointless.