Chapter 3: So I Bit You

Chapter 3

So I Bit You

Pushing the bedroom door open revealed a hallway and a couple of other open doors, through which I caught glimpses of another bedroom and bathroom. When I peered curiously into the second bedroom, it looked like a guest room, lacking much by way of personality or clutter except for the pile of clothes on a chair. The room I’d been living in, by contrast, had the touches that suggested constant occupancy: a few bits and bobs on top of the dresser, an open closet door revealing hung-up shirts and suits, toiletries in the en suite bathroom.

Drew had given me his own bed, then.

I found myself smiling as I headed down the stairs at the end of the hallway. Something about his thoughtful, devoted care felt important to me, and more than simply because of the contrast to what had come before. Like I might not remember my former life, but the emotional impressions of it had lingered somehow…and those impressions didn’t include anything quite as wonderfully kind as Drew.

If no one had done anything this nice for me before, maybe I ought to table the notion of having a family, or even a killer tomato, pining away for me at home.

That wiped the smile off my face again.

By the time I got downstairs I’d nearly tapped out what little strength I had. My knees wobbled like jelly, and I had to use the banister to hold myself up like an old man. I barely had the energy to notice my surroundings, although I caught an impression of a high ceiling, exposed beams, comfortable-looking furniture, a giant flatscreen. A fireplace. I weaved my way across another plush rug over a shiny hardwood floor and staggered across the room, following my nose.

The giant living room opened into an equally luxurious kitchen, with all kinds of gleaming granite countertops and metal appliances.

And a table and chairs, thank God. Drew turned around from the stove as I collapsed into one of the chairs, panting like I’d been at the gym for hours.

“Hey,” he said, tone neutral, smile a little too pleasantly casual to be natural. He’d changed out of his wet clothes, wearing jeans again with another T-shirt, this one pale gray. It stretched across his broad chest and around bulging biceps. He looked like someone who actually did spend hours at a gym, and the wooden spoon in his hand hit a note of bizarre incongruity. The way he held it, it should’ve been a machete or something. “I thought about coming upstairs to find you, but you seemed like you…wanted some time alone.”

That came out completely neutral, too, but I squirmed in my chair, guilt nagging at me. He had every right to be hurt or offended after the way I’d lost it on him and then acted like he’d been the one imposing on me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled to the table’s polished-wood surface. Shit, even his kitchen furniture looked expensive and nice and new. I felt like such a grubby little interloper. “I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”

“I said you were mine and then got in the shower with you.” His voice had gone rough, abrupt, and when I dared to glance up he’d turned around again to face the stove, his shoulders rigid. “You had every reason to want me to get the fuck out.”

That urge to soothe and comfort him rose up again, nearly irresistible. I could press myself against his back, lay my head between his shoulder blades, stroke my hands down over the muscles of his arms. Feel him relax under my touch.

Would he, though? Even if I could stand up, which seemed a little doubtful. I’d been cold, so cold, for so long. And he was so warm. Was I being selfish? Wanting to touch him for my own benefit, take even more than what he’d already given me?

Maybe. But I ached to give him something back. Something to ease that tension. God. He hadn’t done anything wrong; quite the contrary. I’d be dead a few times over without him.

But I couldn’t make my trembling legs push me up and out of my chair.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, wishing he’d turn around and let me see those eyes. Look at me, which was stupid given how miserable and humiliated I’d felt having him look at me a few minutes before. I stared at his back, willing him to turn, to come to me. “Drew, you didn’t freak me out. I freaked myself out. I’m so—I’m such a mess. And you haven’t done anything but be kind to—”

He spun around so fast it startled me into silence, and the look on his face had me cringing into the chair, panting and wide-eyed. Drew’s lips drawn back in a snarl and his eyes flashing transformed him into the predator he’d told me he was, the kind that humans might be smart to avoid after all.

“I haven’t told you everything,” he growled. The hand around the spoon tightened until his knuckles went white, and I heard the handle crack. He flung the pieces into the sink with a loud clatter that made me jump. “I haven’t been—fuck, I haven’t been honest with you. I was trying to wait until you’d eaten something and gotten some strength back, but I can’t. It’s fucking eating me alive knowing I’m lying to you.”

Lying to me. My heart pounded away, blurring my vision, making him waver into an intimidating silhouette looming over me.

Maybe in my past life I’d have been angry instead of scared and sick. Of course, in my past life I might have had somewhere, anywhere else to go—anyone else to turn to. But the fact was, no matter what he’d done to me or meant to do…it was still better than what he’d saved me from. And worth the safety of his house and his protection.

“Tell me, then.” That came out hoarse and scratchy, and I cleared my throat. “Whatever it is, just say it.” And then I could figure out how to live with it, lacking any other choices.

A long, heavy silence fell. Drew stood up straighter, squaring his shoulders, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Did you notice the scar on your neck? When you were taking your shower?”

My hand flew up, fingers finding the raised edges of it. Oh, God. He was a werewolf. What if…

Mating meant more than a bite, I knew that much. He would’ve had to…I didn’t feel like I’d been raped. I didn’t remember him touching me like that. I didn’t remember anything!

“You can’t have,” I choked out. My belly clenched, horror crawling all over my skin and making me tingle, something I was apparently still allowed to feel—lucky me. “You can’t. You saved me.” And then it hit me, what that could mean. If I’d misjudged him completely. If I’d been betrayed by the one person I trusted… “Oh, God. You saved me so you could—you—while I wasn’t conscious, you—”

I tried to stagger up, out of the chair, away from him, instinct taking over and drowning out even the despair that would’ve led me to stay with him no matter what, accept anything rather than being alone in the world and totally helpless.

And my legs buckled. With a cry, I fell over, Drew lunging and catching me before I could hit the ground. His arms still felt like a bulwark between me and the world—but I shouldn’t think that, so I fought him anyway, shoving and thrashing until he brought me down on the kitchen floor gently. He let me go so I could scuttle away from him, back to the wall. He crouched there a couple of feet from me, hands out at his sides. Not touching.

Those dark eyes glowed with werewolf magic and with something like panic.

“I didn’t, Ash, listen to me, I didn’t do that,” he said desperately. “I bit you. Not a mating bite. I only bit, and that’s fucking wrong enough, I hurt you and left a mark. But I didn’t claim you. I didn’t—I swear to all the gods that exist, I didn’t do what you’re thinking.”

I believed him. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t doubt his sincerity—not when he looked at me like that. Relief left me nearly as weak as my terror had, and screw this emotional whiplash, anyway. Didn’t I deserve a little boredom?

“Then why did you mark me? Why—scar me while I was unconscious, and—that’s not as bad. Not nearly as bad.”

I sounded like I was trying to convince myself as much as reassure him. Both were probably unhealthy impulses, under the circumstances.

Drew swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I have a really, really old-school family. Pack. Both. I don’t know if I can explain it well to someone who’s never lived it. My uncle’s the pack leader. He’s—Ash, I can’t tell you everything right now, it’s too complicated. But he doesn’t like humans, he wanted to cover up what had happened to me because he was afraid it’d make the pack look weak that one of his alpha heirs had gotten kidnapped. You needed help, I was hundreds of miles from home with no money except a few bucks I found in the center console of the car I took when we left that fucking hellhole. So I had no choice but to call them. And I knew they’d come to the rescue, but I also knew they’d want to toss you aside like so much garbage, because you were no one to them and you were a witness to what had happened. And I’d have been outnumbered. I wouldn’t have been able to win that fight. So I bit you. Left a mark. Told them I’d mated you. They’re fucking pissed, like you have no idea, but a mate bond is sacred to them. Even if you’re human. Even if they’re pissed.”

He stopped, reaching out a hand to me. Pleading with me without words.

And then he used words too, and my resistance melted away with every one of them. “Please,” he said quietly. “Please, let me help you up, get you some food. Please don’t be afraid of me. You have a scar because of me. I fucking hate myself for it, and I wouldn’t blame you for hating me either. But I was doing my best to protect you.”

“You did protect me.” No matter what had happened after, he’d carried me out of my cell and saved my life. On the other hand… “You said earlier that your family would look out for us and that I was safe here. And it sounds like you were trying to make me feel better instead of telling me the truth. You lied about more than just leaving out the part where you bit me, Drew.”

“You’re safe now,” he said, with absolute certainty. “As my mate, you’re safe. Any one of them would fight to the death for you now that you’re part of the pack. Or now that they think you’re part of the pack. But you can’t let on that it’s fake, Ash. You have to promise me you’ll keep up the pretense. I told them we’d mated a few months ago and we were kidnapped together, so the fact that the shaman couldn’t sense a mate bond between us got put down to your…energy flow thing. The only way they can find out is if one of us fucks up and tells them.”

Oh, no. That meant…

“I’m going to have to meet your pack?” It came out a pathetic squeak of dismay.

Drew’s shoulders slumped and he let out a long, long breath, as if he’d been in desperate suspense about my response to everything he’d told me.

As if he’d needed to be. Because I was what, going to get up and walk out of here? Tell him to fuck off? Where the hell did I have to go? I didn’t have anyone in the world but Drew. I might’ve tried to run if he’d actually violated me, or mated me against my will. Either. Both. Being an alpha werewolf’s sex slave wouldn’t be much better than being in prison, would it?

Then again, the food still simmering away on the stove smelled really good, and if sex slavery came with being held by those wonderful arms…

Oh, God, I’d officially lost it, hadn’t I? Stockholm Syndrome. Or something similar.

As if he’d read my mind, Drew said, “Yeah, you’ll probably have to meet them if you stay. But you’re not a prisoner here, okay? Just because my pack thinks we’re mated doesn’t mean you can’t leave if you want to, if you have somewhere to go. Since you remember your first and last name, we can look you up in an online database for missing persons. There is one, I checked. I didn’t look for you yet, though. I thought you might want to do it yourself.”

“We’ll look in a while, okay?” I didn’t think I could handle that yet. The thought of finding a family or friends, someone who’d been grieving for me, when I couldn’t even remember they existed…well, that scared me even more than finding nothing at all. “What did you cook? It smells so good.”

Drew blinked at me, and his mouth dropped open a little. “You’re—just like that, Ash? You’re not going to shout at me? Beat the shit out of me?”

Like a freak, I started to laugh, but I simply couldn’t help it. “Beat the shit out of you? Me and what army?”

His lips quirked in a wry little smile. “I’d let you win? I mean, if you want to hit me, go for it. I deserve it. I heal really fast, but if you want to use a baseball bat or something you could do some damage I’d feel for a while.”

Nothing in the world sounded less appealing to me than beating Drew with a baseball bat. Actually, I wanted to hug him. Or be hugged. Both.

“Food, please. I don’t want to hurt you.” After our captivity, and what sounded like a hellish encounter with his family, when he should’ve been able to have a joyful reunion…yeah. He’d been hurt enough. “I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re too good for me, and we’re not even mated for real.” Drew shook his head. “Seriously. I wouldn’t deserve you. And the food’s probably not that good,” he added, reaching out his hand again. This time I took it, and he carefully boosted me to my feet, slipping his arm around my waist when I stumbled. He smelled as good as whatever he’d cooked, now that I had the chance to notice it. Fresh and clean and warm, a little spicy. I let my head lean on his shoulder for a second so I could soak it in and tried not to be too obvious about sniffing him. “It beats dry peanut butter sandwiches, though.”

I shuddered as he set me back in my seat at the dining table.

We’d had peanut butter every day in there. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look at peanut butter again without gagging. It hadn’t even tasted like much, mostly dry and awful. Like they’d bought the worst possible peanut butter on purpose.

Drew settled me down with such gentleness it nearly broke me. Afraid of him? He’d begged me not to be. He had no idea how redundant that plea had been. Aside from that one burst of horror, which had passed so quickly it’d made my head spin, I didn’t think I could be afraid of him even if he did decide to chain me to his bed.

Once he’d gotten me situated, he bustled around getting out dishes and spoons and drinks, and I had a bowl of chili, a huge glass of ice water, and a spoon and napkin in front of me in no time at all.

Plus grated cheese, sour cream, and chopped green onions to put on top.

I had to close my mouth in a hurry to keep from drooling all over the table.

“Dig in,” Drew said, dropping into the chair across from me. “I hope it tastes okay. I’m not much of a chef. But no one delivers out here. We’re forty-five minutes outside of the city. At least if you drive safely.”

That explained the trees, anyway. I put some of the toppings on the food, my hand shaking with how much I wanted it, picked up my spoon, and scooped up a bite.

God, it looked good. The steam curling up, and the warmth of it against my lips…and then I put the spoon in my mouth, closing my eyes in anticipation.

I could still smell it, but it tasted like—nothing. Lumpy texture, heat, weight on my tongue.

But no flavor at all.

I choked, forcing myself to chew and swallow even though I wanted to spit it out all over the table. My eyes watered with the effort. At last I got it down.

When I looked up, Drew was staring at me in horror.

“It’s actually that bad? I’m so sorry. I mean, I didn’t think I put too much salt in it. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I have no idea if it has too much salt in it.” I put my spoon down in the bowl, reeling with misery.

Okay, so not feeling pain had the potential to give me a lot of grief if I got clumsy. And not feeling pleasure…well, it wasn’t like Drew meant to chain me to his bed after all, so I wouldn’t be missing much there.

But not being able to taste? Having homemade food, a real hot meal, on the table right there in front of me. And not. Being able. To taste it.

It was absolutely the outer limit of what I could take.

Rage welled up in me, finally overwhelming my apathy and exhaustion, so powerful and searing it felt like my insides were boiling.

“Are you sure they’re all dead?” I demanded. Shouted, actually. Well, maybe shrieked. “Everyone there. All of them. Because I want to fucking kill them all over again!”

“Ash, are you—”

“I don’t know if it doesn’t have enough salt. Or too much. You could’ve put the whole goddamn Dead Sea in there and I wouldn’t notice until my tongue shriveled up and I died!”

I shoved at the bowl, pushing it halfway across the table and slopping a glob of beans and sour cream onto the now not-as-shiny surface. And fuck, I knew I was behaving like a petulant child. But my stomach had started growling and the tears were starting to come, and—I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take anything else.

“I can’t taste anything,” I finished. “Nothing. It’s—it’s lumpy,” I wailed, sounding so pathetic I didn’t even recognize my own voice. And then I dropped my head in my hands and hyperventilated, my heart thrumming through my limbs until I vibrated.

Drew got up. I knew that by the screech of his chair legs and then the sound of his footsteps crossing the kitchen. A couple of little thumps and scrapes, the fridge opening and then closing again.

He didn’t say a word.

Had I finally hit the limit of what he could deal with from me? Cleaning me up when I pissed myself—and in his own bed, no less. Biting me so that his family didn’t dump me in a ditch. Pretending to be my mate. Hiring doctors and shamans and experts to examine me and keep me alive, and if you couldn’t get a pizza delivery out here where he lived, I doubted the doctor’s house call had come cheap.

Another soft thunk and clink from right in front of me made me peek through my fingers. My chili had gone away, the table was shiny again, and in place of my previous meal sat a bowl of what appeared to be plain yogurt with honey drizzled on the top.

Drew’s hand landed on my shoulder, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know you can’t taste the honey, either. But it’s the same texture. And I can’t just give you a bowl of fucking yogurt without feeling like an asshole.” He sighed. “I’ll get lots of ice cream without any bits in it for the calories. Smooth stuff. Oh, and sliced apples. Those’ll be crunchy but not weird-feeling.”

Yeah, if he meant to turn me into a sex slave, I could only imagine the horrors he’d inflict on me. Asking me what position I’d be most comfortable chained in, no doubt, and then apologizing if he hogged the blankets.

“Is this what you meant when you said I was yours?” I asked him. “That you’re going to wait on me hand and foot?”

Drew sighed again and took his seat, picking up his own spoon and poking at his chili. “I guess it does. I hope that’s worth the biting. And the lying. I’m truly so fucking sorry, Ash. I can’t tell you how much. About all of this.”

“It’s worth it.” I picked up my spoon, winced in anticipation, and took a bite of the yogurt. It tasted like smoothness and coolness. I could tolerate it. I took another bite, swallowed, and said, “You know, being your stray cat isn’t so bad. As long as you don’t start feeding me that fish stuff in a can.”

I looked up, our eyes met…and we both burst into laughter, his eyes lighting up not with his alpha glow but with amusement and mischief. It made him impossibly handsome, like the moment the magazine cover photographer had been waiting for to capture and sell for a million dollars.

“Would it matter?” he asked me, his voice still full of laughter. “At least you wouldn’t be able to taste it. Silver lining, right?”

It was a little too soon for that joke, but I appreciated it anyway. I had to either laugh or cry at this point, and I was done with crying.

“Yeah,” I said, and took another bite of yogurt. Still smooth. And cold. Slightly sticky. Fuck my life. I managed to smile at him, not all that hard given the glint in his eyes and the infectious upward curl of those firm lips of his. “Yeah, silver lining.”

We ate the rest of our food in comfortable silence, and I almost felt like a person while we did, deadened nerves and scars and all.