Chapter 28

Bronson feels warm. Safe.

With his arms around me, all thoughts fade away until all I can focus on is him. His familiar, comforting scent surrounds me, consumes me. I have the irresistible urge to press my face into his neck and breathe him in.

My body still tingles through the aftershocks of pleasure. It had come out of nowhere, crashing over me like a tidal wave. I felt myself reach the peak of the cliff, but I knew that Bronson would be there to catch me as I fell.

I thought I was too tainted to enjoy such pleasures. I have heard other women ranting and raving about their sexual experiences, but I never even dared to hope. To be intimate with someone you care for, someone you genuinely want in your life, is an indescribable feeling. My heart feels weightless, as if it has suddenly sprouted wings and taken flight in my chest.

My emotions confuse me, unnerve me. Rattle me, in a way, until I’m unrecognizable. Give me the dark any darn day. I know those demons, this taint on my soul. It’s the light that petrifies me. It brings me to my knees until I’m a simpering fool. No, allow me to live in the dark, an oblivion I understand, instead of forcing me into the sun.

“You’re quiet,” Bronson whispers against my head. His large hand is stroking my freshly curled hair as his lips pepper kisses to my scalp. “You don’t regret?—”

“No,” I answer immediately. My heart hammers in my chest, but it’s a good pound. An elated one. Emotions surge through me, and I struggle to grasp just one in particular. “No, not at all. It felt…amazing.”

More than amazing, actually, but I swear if my cheeks get any hotter, I’ll have to go to the hospital. There’s a pain between my thighs, but it’s a good one—completely different from the first time I was touched there.

“That’s all I want for you.” Bronson kisses my forehead.

We sit in silence for a minute, but it’s not awkward. His presence, his arms around me, and his rhythmic breathing are all comforting.

“Are you sore?” he asks at last.

“A little,” I admit, rubbing my thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache. “But it’s not too bad.”

“Goddess,” he begins in his grumbly voice, and fireworks shoot through my body—as they always do—at the nickname. I’m many things, but a goddess is most definitely not one of them. “You know I’m a shadow wolf.”

When he doesn’t say anything immediately, I nod my head slowly, hesitantly. “Yeah?”

“Wolves can be either solitary creatures, or they can move in packs, you understand?” He seems almost uneasy, unsure. I place my hand over his hand still resting on my breast. My touch seems to ground him, and he takes a steadying breath. “My wolf has…for lack of a better word…claimed you as his mate.” My breath leaves me in a swooping burst, but he continues before I can cut in. “But he has also claimed a bunch of the assholes here as part of his pack, understand?”

No, not at all.

Bronson’s wolf has claimed me as his…mate? What does that mean? Did Bronson claim me as well? Did he even have a choice in the matter? Oh god. Is that why he…pleasured me? Because of his wolf?

Left unattended, my thoughts are running rampant, and Bronson easily picks up on my unease. He places a hand beneath my chin and tilts my face up. Soft, luscious lips press against my own. One would think that they would be hard and chapped from years in this prison, but they’re surprisingly smooth.

“I’m your mate?” I whisper, and my heart thunders in both elation and trepidation. The juxtaposed emotions give me a blinding headache.

“Not yet,” he replies. Crippling disappointment surges through me, but I mask it quickly. “If I were to bite you…” He trails off. “What I’m saying is: what we did solidified the bond for me. We may not be officially mated, but I want you. I always have, and I always will. But my wolf will not be angry if you decide to also pursue relationships with other members of our pack. Only our pack. Do you understand?” Kai’s face immediately flashes to mind, followed closely by Abel’s and Damien’s. Even Cain’s comes to the forefront before I push it back.

“Okay,” I whisper.

I don’t know what else to say. This—all of this—is decidedly not normal. I need time to process all the information he’s given me. Bronson has murdered a man, for one, and though the death was deserved, I can’t ignore the tiny voice in my head screaming profanities at me for trusting him. I know that not everything is black and white, light and dark, but it would be so much easier if you could separate everything and everyone into individual boxes. Unfortunately, that’s not how the world works. You can’t judge a man based on one past accident any more than you can judge someone for saving your life in the future. There’s a delicate balance between good and evil, right and wrong, and I’m currently toeing that blurred line.

“We should get back to the others,” Bronson says, moving me off his lap and kneeling before me. His hands tenderly rearrange my dress around my breasts before he helps me to my feet. He treats me as if I’m fragile. I’ve never had anyone besides Kai treat me like that before. Though the sensation is unusual, it’s one I could get used to.

Bronson leaves the table and food behind, taking my hand in his own. I marvel at how big his palm feels—it swallows mine up whole. Still, there’s no denying the innate sense of rightness as we walk down the hall.

His hand belongs in mine.

“Shit,” Bronson curses suddenly, tugging me to a stop.

“What?” I drop into his head to get a sense of our surroundings. We’re somewhere in the middle of the Labyrinth. In every direction, I see stone walls, rusty lead pipes, and shards of rock.

“I think I took a wrong turn.” He sounds hesitant, unsure, as he leads me back in the direction we came from. Water rushes above us from one of the pipes. Urine, blood, and dust barrage me the longer we walk. After taking a few more turns, we end up in the exact same place we were originally.

“We’re lost,” I point out unhelpfully, and Bronson grunts.

“We’re not lost.”

“Yes, we are.” Tugging on our combined hands, I use them to point at one of the rocks protruding from the wall. “Look at that rock. We passed it two times already.”

Every muscle in Bronson’s body goes rigid. At first, I’m confused, wondering if he senses something I don’t. As my wits gradually return to me, I realize my mistake instantly.

“Nina,” Bronson asks slowly, carefully. He turns his head until I fill up his entire vision. “How can you see the rock?”

I open my mouth, close it, and then open it again. A thousand excuses pop into my head, but I know I can’t lie to him. Not after he has been so honest with me.

I open my mouth to confess everything—Kai’s wishes be damned—when Bronson suddenly grabs my shoulder and pushes me behind him. I stumble, pressing a palm against the wall to steady myself, as claws extend from the tips of Bronson’s fingers.

From this angle, I’m unable to see myself, but I do see the figures approaching us on silent feet.

Five men and one female, all with an elegant, predatory grace. The men are tall and muscular, the ridges of their muscles visible through the thin shirts they wear. The woman doesn’t even reach the men’s shoulders, and her body is slim and almost delicate. Her elfin face peers first at Bronson and then at me.

“Shifters.” Bronson’s voice is unrecognizable. Throaty, almost guttural, as if he’s speaking around a mouthful of abnormally sharp teeth.

“I’m surprised Blade let you off your leash,” the woman says with a lilting laugh. Bronson growls threateningly but doesn’t rise to her taunt. “Anyway, we’re not here for a fight. You have someone we want. Give us back our leader, and we’ll let you live.” This is all said with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, as if she couldn’t give a crap either way.

“Mr. Scruffles?” I break in, and Bronson immediately pushes me farther behind him, shielding me completely with his large, muscular body.

“Who the fuck is Mr. Scruffles?” the woman questions, glancing at her companions. “Have you guys heard of him?” Turning back towards me, her voice turns mocking. “Little girl, run as fast and far as you can. We don’t play well with Blade’s bitches. I think he needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Run!” Bronson roars.

A flash of light illuminates Bronson’s vision a moment before he shifts. The transition is so effortless that, if I were to blink, I would’ve missed it. One second, a man is standing in front of me, and the next, he’s lower to the ground as his wolf breaks free. Without delay, the wolf rears back on his hind legs and pounces.

I remain against the wall, stricken, as I watch his teeth cut through skin and bone. The vision provides me a vivid image of every gruesome detail—the sharp incisors breaking through skin and tendons, the gushing of blood, the open mouth as the man screams for mercy.

A white light shines directly in my eyes—Bronson’s eyes—as one of the men pulls out a flashlight.

Distantly, I remember Bronson telling me that his wolf can only come out in the shadows.

With the spotlight on him, Bronson falls to the ground, his vision changing once more as he returns to his human form.

“Nina,” he growls, crawling to his hands and knees. His gaze is intent on the man holding him hostage in the flashlight’s thin beam. “Run.”

And I run.

I pull out of Bronson’s head as I run through the twisting cement halls. I pull my dress up, so I don’t step on the train, and race around the corner, only to run face-first into a wall.

Wincing at the pain, I press one hand to my forehead and the other to the cold, wet wall. Using it for guidance, I continue to venture forward.

Come on, Nina. Come on.

My ankles throb as I stumble over loose rocks, but still I charge forward. For Bronson.

God, is he okay? Please, please, tell me he’s okay.

I left him.

I. Left. Him.

Tears flood my eyes, but I don’t allow them to deter me. I need to keep moving; I need to find help. With a purpose in mind, I tentatively venture farther down the Labyrinth’s halls.

“Going somewhere?” a cold voice murmurs in my ear. I spin on my heel, throwing a punch at the intruder’s throat. Before my fist can make contact, the girl grabs my wrist and gives it a twist. A cracking sound reverberates throughout the hall, and I scream. “Blade is going to pay for taking our leader,” she hisses, spit flying into my face. “I hope you have a good stomach for torture, little girl.”

I only have a second to pray that Bronson made it out alive before a fist connects with my face.

Darkness claims me.