MacRieve

NINE

Field position? Chloe’s life had never been so offsides before. She still couldn’t see and doubted she would believe her eyes anyway.

She was severely injured, with a mythological creature holding her secure in his brawny arms.

Though explosions were blasting in the distance, shaking the ground, in the immediate area all she heard was this male’s deep breaths. Inhale, exhale.

Even under her bag, she could detect his scent: evergreen, copper, and . . . male. His arms were unyielding around her, but still gentle. She thought they’d finally stopped running.

He howled once more, like an animal, paining her ears. When an answering howl sounded, the being seemed to relax a measure.

“Ey,” Chloe weakly murmured against her gag. “Ake is ov?”

Instead of taking the bag off, he reached under it for her gag. It felt too private, like he was reaching under her shirt. He pulled only the gag free.

She licked her dry lips, then worked her jaw back and forth. She had no reserves of strength left, was freezing cold, shaking from blood loss. And his body felt so hot against her. Still . . . “I-I need you to release me.” Just give me a second.

“Canna do that.” His voice was deep, beastly, and accented. He sounded like a Scot.

According to the book, the Highlands were Lykae territory. “Are you gonna hurt me?”

Silence. He was hesitating to answer? “You kill immortals like your sire? Or did the witch speak truths?”

“I’ve never seen immortals before tonight. Didn’t think they existed.”

“If no’ one among the Order, then what are you?”

“Center forward.”

“Doona follow.”

“I play soccer. That’s all I do. I-I don’t know how I got mixed up in all this. I just . . . I chase a ball for a living.”

“Chase a ball.”

That must’ve been the exact right thing to tell a werewolf, because he released a gust of breath. “I will no’ hurt you. I’ll see you well.”

Had she lucked into the one creature who wouldn’t harm her? Of course, the crowd of detrus had screamed at the sight of this one, had scattered because Chloe was his mate.

He’d frightened even other monsters. And she was utterly under this one’s power. Though Chloe was first and foremost a fighter, she wasn’t above making allies. Her foggy brain tried to recall more from the book’s Lykae entry.

The bond between mates was the ultimate for them—revered by them as others did gods. Each Lykae only ever had one, so it followed that they would fight anything that tried to separate them. Such as auctioneers and other bidders? “Am I really your . . . mate?”

Another hesitation. “Aye.”

She relaxed slightly. She didn’t see how that was possible, but as long as he believed it, he wouldn’t hurt her. “Th-thank you for saving me back there.”

He stiffened against her. “Dinna have a choice.” He might think she was his, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. He must hate her because she was human, because she was Daughter of Webb.

Dustin Todd was Commander Preston Webb. Not just a member of the Order, but a leader.

She exhaled with confusion, the movement making her wound sing. Her dizziness increased—probably because she was light a few pints of blood.

“Freeing you.” He slashed through the chains binding her wrists.

She swallowed. Slashed that metal with what?

“Doona fight me.”

With effort, she raised one hand to the bag to draw it away, but he stayed her arm. “No’ yet.”

“Why not?” Rain began to mist over them.

“You’ve had enough . . . frights for the night.”

Exactly how hideous was he?

He started feeling her head through the silk bag. Checking for injuries? Finding none on her head, he gently swept his hands over her ankles, her calves, even up her thighs. She tensed but was too weak to resist him.

He hissed out a curse when he got to her left shoulder. Dislocated. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm. Then, seeming to think better of it, he adjusted his grip to what felt like his thumb and forefinger. With just two fingers and the tiniest movement, he jerked down. She gritted her teeth as her shoulder popped back into place.

When the sharp pain receded to a dull ache, she exhaled in relief, her eyelids growing heavy. “Th-thank you.” Was that her slurred voice? How much blood had she lost? Why couldn’t she think?

“Brave,” he rasped.

When he lifted the skirt of her gown, sodden with her blood, she couldn’t fight him, had to believe he was only checking her injury anyway. It was deep, excruciating.

He shuddered against her. At the sight of it? She could only imagine what it must look like.

She thought he was drawing off his shirt. A rip sounded. After a second she realized he was securing his balled-up shirt against her wound with a sleeve tied tightly around her waist. Smart.

But was it too little, too late? Without a hospital and a transfusion . . . “You think I’m about to eat it? Be honest.”

He froze. “What?”

The mist turned to pounding rain, soaking her. “Pretty sure . . . I’m bleeding out.”

“Dying? Nay. Nay.” Without warning, he cupped the back of her head with one massive hand and her bottom with the other. She tried to muster the strength to resist, but then this man began to rock with her—as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve got you,” he grated. “You will no’ die.”

She might be wary of him; her body wasn’t. It melted against his.

“That’s it, my lass.” He pulled her closer.

“You’re s-so warm.” Despite all her turmoil and all her fear, she knew she was about to black out in this stranger’s embrace.

When he said, “Rest, Chloe, everything’ll be all right,” she was too exhausted to doubt him.

Blackness was clawing at her. “You’ll keep me safe?”

The last thing she heard before she passed out: “No one will ever hurt you again.”