Chapter Five

Jemma stared at the door for a long moment before the touch of a needle against her skin pulled her back to the room and Jensen. If it wasn’t one Holloway testing her, it was another.

“A little warning would have been nice.”

Jensen merely lifted a brow. “I did tell you. Not my fault you were staring after my brother like a…”

She glared, taking delight in the way he flushed and didn’t finish what he’d been saying. She didn’t want to know what he’d been ready to compare her to.

“Did I hit my head?” she asked.

Jensen glanced up at her as he finished drawing a third vial of blood. He made quick work of removing the needle then putting on the bandage. Setting everything aside, he cupped her face, his fingers probing along her scalp.

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

“With you pushing on it, it does,” she groused, shoving him away. “My head is fine.”

“Then why did you ask?”

He took the vials and carried them to the back counter where his medical equipment was stored. He kept his back to her while he spoke.

“Go ahead and remove Brock’s shirt. I need to check your wound.”

“No need for a show of decorum, Jensen. We’re shifters.”

“You’re also my brother’s mate.”

She snorted at that. “I think he’s made it perfectly clear that’s not true.”

“And you?” he asked as he walked over, his gaze running clinically over her as she tossed aside the shirt. He zeroed in on her side.

“What?” she asked.

“Tell me you don’t feel pulled to him. The two of you can’t stay apart.”

“We barely tolerate being in each other’s company,” she countered. “Before today, at least.”

“I swear none of my brothers makes it easy on themselves when it comes to mating,” Jensen mumbled as he motioned for her to roll onto her hip, so the place she’d been stabbed was toward him.

“Owe! That hurts.”

He ignored her and kept prodding at the wound. She tried to turn her head to see it, but her breast made it impossible to get a good view. She cupped the mound of flesh and did her best to flatten it in the other direction.

“It looks red,” she said then hissed as he touched a spot that made her see spots while her vision darkened around the edges.

“It’s still inflamed. Your bear isn’t showing herself yet. Have you felt her since you woke?”

“No.” She reached inside herself and felt…nothing. Even when she hadn’t been allowed to shift, she’d felt her bear. She’d always had that part of herself.

“Don’t panic,” Jensen ordered. “Once I discover if it was the poison or what was injected afterward or the combination of both, I’ll be able to help you. Until then, rest. It’s the best thing for your body to heal.”

He moved on from her side and skimmed his hands over her hip and along her thigh. His touch was clinical, assessing.

“I didn’t note any other injuries when you were brought in. Tell me what you feel. Are you hurting anywhere else?”

She flexed her feet then her hands, rolled her shoulders and rocked her hips.

“No.”

“Sit up and turn your back to me,” Jensen ordered. “I want to check your spine and listen to your lungs.”

“I feel fine,” Jemma argued even as she did as he’d requested.

He ran his hands over her back, pressing here and there and making tutting noises. Then he spread out his hands over her ribs then palpated down to her hips and tailbone before trailing back up to her neck. He cupped his hands around the base of her skull and guided her through a series of movements.

“Do you feel anything pull or any sharp pains?”

“No, Jensen. I’m fine. I swear. Other than my side and the fact I can’t feel my bear, at the moment, I’m okay. So, how soon can I get out of here?”

“You’ll stay here until the inflammation goes down, with or without your animal’s help.”

“Jensen—”

“I could agree to let you go back to the main house,” he offered. “There are plenty of people there to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t need anyone to keep an eye on me.”

“Brock thinks you’re going to run.”

She made a non-committal sound.

“Well?” Jensen pressed.

“Why does he care?” she countered with her own question. “Why the sudden change of heart? And don’t say the whole mate thing again. We both know it means nothing.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The whole mate thing means everything. Everything.” Jensen growled the final word.

“Not when your mate doesn’t want you.”

“I want you.”

Her head jerked toward the door at Brock’s voice, and as his gaze fell to take her in, her cheeks flushed with heat. She refused to hide, though. He’d seen her naked before when they’d shifted. She’d seen him naked. Seen all of him, though he usually tried to turn from her as if he could hide the masculine part of himself from her gaze.

“Today, maybe,” she agreed. “But what about tomorrow? What about the next time I say or do something to piss you off? Because we all know the likelihood of that is exponentially high.”

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Jensen offered and, after grabbing the vials of blood, moved past Brock and stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving her and Brock in a cabin where she was naked and, according to the bulge in his jeans, he was hard.

She sighed. She was so tired. Tired of all of it.

“Did you bring me clothes?”

He tossed a bag onto the bed beside her. “Soft, comfy clothes. Nothing that’ll put pressure on your side.”

“Thank you.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “You can go, Brock. You don’t have to stay here with me.”

“I want to.”

She shook her head. He wanted her. He wanted to stay with her. None of it made any sense.

“I’m going to take a shower. Thanks for the clothes.”

She stood, swaying a bit before she got her feet under her. Brock was there instantly, his big hands steadying her, touching her, making her feel things she had no business feeling. Especially when she wasn’t at her best, mentally, physically, or emotionally.

“We can take a shower, if you want, but I’d suggest my bathroom. It’s bigger and will accommodate us better.”

She glanced up at him. “What?”

“It’s roomier than the one here.” He nodded toward the bathroom door where he’d carried her earlier.

“I’m showering. Me not we,” she emphasized.

“You’re not getting into the shower by yourself when you’re still unsteady on your feet. You’re exhausted, but I understand wanting to get cleaned up. You’ll feel better and probably sleep better when you’re clean and have something on your stomach. You can throw on what I brought then I’ll carry you back to the lodge. We’ll shower, then you can stay in bed while I make us something to eat.”

“I’m not showering with you, and I’m definitely not sleeping with you.”

“Pick a room, Jemma, but know this. Wherever you are, I’m there, too. I’m done denying what we both know is true.”

“How great for you,” she sneered. “You do you, Brock. And I’ll do me. As far away from you as I can get.”

He shook his head, a grin tugging at one side of his lips.

“Your temper turns me on.”

Her gaze dropped between his thighs, and she fought to keep a moan inside. Damn, he was big all over. She seen, but she was desperate to touch, to taste, to rub her scent all over him and mark her territory as her bear demanded. She no longer felt the urgency of her animal side, though. It was silent, and the woman was more insecure.

“We’re not mates.”

His gaze narrowed on her face before skimming down to her toes then back up. Nudity was nothing when you were a shifter, but the way he looked at her made it feel as if he were touching her. Her sex grew damp, and her nipples turned to turgid points that could probably cut glass. He inhaled, and a rumble rolled through his chest.

“We are.”

He opened the bag, grabbed another of his large T-shirts, then dropped it over her head. She wiggled into it, not because she wanted the warmth and scent of him on her, but so she could hide the effect he was having on her. The material covered her almost to her knees when she straightened. Then he scooped her up and held her high against his chest.

“Wait! What are you doing?”

“Taking you where I can keep an eye on you. We’re done running, Jemma. We’re done arguing and fighting this pull between us. We’re going to shower, eat, sleep, then when you’re better rested, we’re going to talk.”

“I don’t want—”

He cut her off by leaning down and taking her mouth with his. His lips were soft against hers, his tongue wicked as it swept inside her mouth to taste and explore. She moaned, lifting one arm around his neck while the other brushed over his broad chest. It was her first kiss. Ever. There’d never been anyone before him, and the way he consumed her, she’d never want any other after him. She tried to follow his mouth as he eased back from her lips. She didn’t want the kiss to end.

“Easy,” he whispered.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” she muttered even as she rubbed her nose against his neck, scenting him, and rubbing hers into his skin.

“You are.”

She huffed. “I’m not having sex with you.”

He chuckled. “Tell me your tight, little pussy isn’t dripping with the need to feel me inside you.”

She made a completely embarrassing noise somewhere between a whimper and a growl. He was right, and they both knew it.

“Brock.”

“Don’t get scared on me now,” he ordered.

“I’m not.” But she was. How would she ever survive if he took her then walked away from her again?

“I promise you this, Jemma. I won’t fuck you until you beg me to, and even then, I’ll wait until we say our vows.”

“I’ll never beg.”

His gaze held a predatory hunger she felt deep in her womb.

“You’ll beg,” he vowed. “And when I take you, when I fill you up, you’ll scream my name, so that the heavens themselves know who you belong to.”