The Lone Wolf's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #3)(55)

So he’s a fucked-up asshole, right? Another Quarry Pack tough guy who’s too broken to function.

And underneath all these assumptions is the idea that I wasn’t worth the effort to him. Just like I wasn’t worth it to my mom.

That he could have made it work if he’d tried.

But this male in chains across from me—he came for me. He put his body between them and me and flung his arms wide, even though he must have known he was outgunned and outnumbered. And now he’s making himself summarize classics to keep me calm.

“Why are we talking about books?”

The brow furrows again. “You asked me. Remember? When you came to my place that day. You asked me what books I like.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

I don’t remember. All I can clearly recall is the embarrassment and the sight of his back as he led me all those miles back to camp. That’s what that afternoon was for me—humiliation and rejection.

What was it like for him?

Why didn’t I ever wonder before?

I shift my butt to rest on the other calf. “So what’s the name of the story with the guy who wants to do evil things?” I ask.

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” The corner of his lips twitch.

Mine soften. “Makes sense.”

“Want to hear about Ivanhoe?” he asks, and from his tone, it’s clear that he’s not excited about the prospect of telling me, but he wants to do it. He wants to comfort me.

I can’t untangle it all—the fear, the strange swirling in my belly, the heat in this box, the way his gruff voice makes me feel small and safe, even though I know I’m not.

Darragh is sweaty, too. He’s not dripping with it, but there’s a sheen on his chest that makes the ridges of his abs glimmer. They catch my eye, and I know I shouldn’t stare, but it doesn’t feel like staring. It feels like admiring. The heat in here itself is beginning to feel less oppressive and more sedative.

I slip into a dull, drowsy haze while Darragh tells me about a knight who is disinherited because he supports the wrong king or loves the wrong woman—or both—it’s unclear, and how the knight won tournaments in a secret disguise, and he’s wounded, and another woman comes into it and is mistaken for the first woman…

I don’t know how the story could make sense even if Darragh is telling it right, but I’m only paying the barest bit of attention. I’m watching the sunlight coming through the bullet holes play on his sweat-slick muscles. His bare chest is different from the males who strut around camp. His skin is tanner, more weathered, like it’s spent more time in the elements, like it’s tougher.

Darragh gestures to show how the knight pierces another with a lance, and his biceps and forearms flex. I love his forearms. There’s a spasm low in my belly.

The air rushes from my lungs. Shit. This is heat. I’m in heat.

I can’t pretend it’s not. It’s heat, and it’s not coming on, it’s here.

I tense. I was resting to the side on a hip, arm draped across my boobs, and I straighten, tucking my legs tight to my chest, clutching my shins tight.

Darragh immediately tenses, too, searching for whatever changed, but nothing has. We’re still speeding somewhere, stuck in a box. I’m just royally screwed.

“What’s wrong?” Darragh asks.

I look down at my pale knees. There’s a dirt smudge on the right one.

I can’t bring myself to say it. Why can’t he smell it? He sure knew last time. He skulked around camp until it took over, and I didn’t have a choice anymore. Until I lost control. My nose burns with gathering tears.

I promised myself that I’d never let it happen again.

Deep down, I knew it wasn’t something I could make promises about, though, didn’t I? I could only pray, and what good does that do? My temples start to ache.

“Mari?” Darragh says my name so low, I almost can’t hear it over the dull roar of the road.

I’m about to open my mouth, to say what, I don’t know, but the truck suddenly shifts and slows. The road becomes bumpier. I yank the chain taut to keep myself from sliding across the floor.

Darragh springs into action, flexing and straining at the chains, an unearthly growl pouring from his throat and echoing off the walls. Nothing gives. He doesn’t stop. He grunts and bears down until his arms give out, and then after a series of quick pants, he grits his teeth and starts again.

My heart begins to pound again.

By the time we roll to a halt, he’s bright red and dripping. His fangs have completely descended, and his claws have sprung. The gold of his wolf eyes has eaten his pupils.

I’m scared.

Two doors slam in quick succession. Behind me, there’s a scraping of metal on metal. They’re sliding the bars that secure the doors.

“The second you get an opening, shift and run,” Darragh growls at me under his breath. “Say it—shift and run.”

“Shift and run,” I repeat, yanking helplessly at the cuff around my wrist, knowing I can’t do either.





9





DARRAGH





She’s in heat. They must have put something in the shit they made her drink to bring it on. It came on too suddenly. Last time, it was—