She swallowed.
“Once he gives us what we need—” He broke off, his gaze boring into hers.
She drew in a deep breath. “One step at a time, right?” she reminded him. Rage rolled off him, simmering just beneath the surface. “First, we plan.”
Mal’s nod was tight.
“But now we sleep?” she asked, bone-weary.
He kissed her, soft and sweet, then clicked off the bedside lamp. She lay with his heart beneath her ear, unable to stop the images in her brain. Her own heart felt bruised after so many painful truths.
And Mal’s? Jude. He’d loved someone enough to marry her, and he’d lost her to the Others. If Mal had uncontrolled rage, he had every right to it. What they’d done to him, body and spirit, was unforgivable. She wanted vengeance for him.
“You’re not sleeping.” His voice was gruff.
“Neither are you,” she said, running her fingers down his arm. “Why not?”
“Ellen.” He sighed. “Her eyes.”
Olivia looked at him, able to see him just as clearly now as when the lights were on. Some wolf things were cool. “What about them?”
“All of Cyrus’s victims have the same eyes—devoid of color, pale. Ellen’s are not.” Mal’s voice was low.
“If Cyrus didn’t turn her, is she an Other?” Olivia murmured.
“I’m not sure.” He rolled over her. “But since we can’t sleep, I say we wear each other out until we can.”
His lips found hers. He tasted too good to refuse. His teeth nipped, his tongue dipping into her mouth. Her hands ran over his back, tracing the dozens of scars that covered the skin. Cyrus did this to him. Fury rolled over her. She had no choice but to channel all her rage, all her frustration, into loving Mal.
Chapter Nineteen
Mal paced Finn’s office, listening to every detail. Again.
“We take them out and take their place,” Anders repeated. “Easy.”
“He’ll get suspicious.” Dante shook his head. “If he panics, he can bring a shit-storm of Others down on us.”
Mal glared at Dante.
“I get it.” Dante held up his hands. “But Finn’s right on this one. Why take unnecessary risks?”
“We know his routine,” Anders argued. “What risks? I’m thinking there’s never going to be a perfect time to kidnap the son of a bitch.” Anders glanced at Olivia. “Sorry.”
Olivia nodded, her eyes red-rimmed and shadowed.
No matter how many times he told her none of this was her fault, she took her brother’s sins onto her shoulders. Her dreams were haunted by Cyrus, the only place he couldn’t physically protect her. And her days were full of plotting ways to bring down her brother. Gentry and Brown had reported everything they’d learned the last few weeks of watching his activities.
Chase had bodyguards. Some wolves, some not.
If Miss Rangell wasn’t with him, a guard was. The redhead was intent on assuming Chase’s place, the large rock on her left hand announcing to the world—and the pack’s surveillance cameras—that she would soon be Mrs. Chase. And once that happened, Mal suspected Olivia’s brother would meet with a sudden, untimely death. If Ellen was right, Teresa Rangell was the brains of the operation. Clearly, she was done standing in Chase’s shadow.
While the pack was unified in their goal, Finn’s focus wasn’t as razor-sharp as Mal hoped. Finn’s preoccupation with Jessa’s pregnancy was understandable, but also infuriating. Time was slipping away, time that Olivia seemed to be tracking by the second. He hated seeing her this way, hated being helpless—especially now that they had intel they could use.
“We wait?” Anders asked, frowning at Mal. “Again?”
“Unless you come up with something foolproof, we have no choice.” Dante rolled his neck. “I’m starving.”
“Me, too,” Olivia said, pushing up out of the chair.