Chapter 4

• MALCOLM
• __
• The soft smell of vanilla weaves over the room when she walks in.
• My mate.
• My chest tightens when she comes closer with that blasted trolley. Her blonde hair is secured in a tight coil at her nape and like always, I am filled with a desperate desire to see it unbound, tumbling down her slender back.
• Her guileless green eyes take me in and she offers a tentative smile. "Hey."
• "Release me," I say.
• For the past four days this has become my reply to her greetings. It has become a ritual of sorts, with her giving me an exasperated reply.
• But as the days go on, I realize I don't know what exactly I'm asking release from. This gods forsaken place, or the spell she seems to have woven over me.
• I crave the sight of her.
• I cannot go a moment without thinking about her. Thinking about what those red, succulent lips taste like.
• What she'd look like naked.
• I want to breathe her in, take a deep inhale of that elusive vanilla scent and luxuriate in it.
• And the fact I feel this way only makes me increasingly angry at myself.
• She is a Hunter.
• I almost scoff in disbelief. My f*cking mate is a Hunter.
• I suppose this is the Moon goddess's way of punishing me for what I did all those years ago.
• To my earlier statement, my mate says with a sigh, "I can't do that."
• "Why?" I say, feeling irritation rear up. "I'm your mate."
• Her brows pull down. "I don't even know you. I doubt you even know what my name is."
• "I do."
• A brow lifts. "What is it then?"
• I shrug. "Piper."
• A sound escapes her, a mix between amusement and exasperation. "Wrong." She turns away and starts to lay out food from the trolley. In a quieter tone, she says, "It's Gwen."
• "Gwen," I repeat slowly, loving the way her name rolls over my tongue.
• The smooth curves of her cheeks redden and soon after the sweet scent of her arousal hits my nose. A low growl escapes me.
• She jumps at the sound, looking at me sharply.
• "I could bring you to release," I say, my voice gone husky. "Hike up your skirt and come sit on my face. You could be riding out your release in seconds with my name on your lips."
• A scandalous expression widens her eyes. "Malcolm!"
• I laugh. The sound is foreign.
• That sobers me up. To anyone without eyes, we could be laughing like two normal individuals who enjoy each other's company. But no, I was chained to a bed while my brother was getting tortured for all I know.
• Indifference seeps into my tone. "Indulging in your mate is nothing to be ashamed of. The average number of times werewolves f*ck in a day is six. Twenty isn't unheard of."
• If possible her face reddens even more. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before snapping shut. She straightens and points a ladle in my direction. "Well then, good thing I'm not a werewolf or your mate--"
• A growl rips from me, sudden anger tightening my insides.
• She goes on, "Hasn't it occurred to you that maybe we've been paired wrongly? That happens, doesn't it? Of course, it does, because it's the only explanation for our pairing. We couldn't be more different. I'm human, you're werewolf--you could outlive me I--"
• "Not if you're turned into a werewolf."
• She halts mid-sentence. "What?"
• "I could turn you, make y--"
• "And why would you think I want that?? I'm perfectly okay as a human, thank you."
• I shrug. "Suit yourself." It won't matter what she was in the long run. Not with what I've planned.
• She remains silent for a few seconds, then continues to cut up my toast.
• I take in her side profile. Sunlight washes over her slender form. She looks serene, a delectable flush staining her cheeks from our argument. My gaze drops to her pencil skirt and I feel my wolf rise. An unwelcome realization seethes to life within me. I want her.
• No.
• Need.
• It is only when my hands are met with resistance that I notice I am straining toward her. I curse and pin her a glare as she nears.
• She mirrors my dark look, placing a piece of toast in front of my lips. "Are you normally this bad-tempered?"
• "Only when my female connives with my enemies."
• She puts the toast in my mouth. "I'm not your female."
• To make a point, my lips clamp around her fingers and I give a greedy suck.
• A gasp escapes her and her cheeks pinken. Her small tongue dips to her full bottom lip and I shoot rock hard, growling low in my throat.
• The sound vibrates down her arm and I see gooseflesh break out around her supple skin. She wrenches her fingers away and shoots me a dark look. "What is wrong with you!?"
• Despite myself, a smirk tips my lips to the side. "You liked that."
• She does that thing where she opens her mouth and closes it wordlessly, ears reddening. She's so expressive. Unbidden, my cock swells against my briefs when I wonder what other expression I could put on her face.
• Enjoying her discomfort I say further, "My offer still stands. Lift up your skirt and come to me. Re--"
• She drives another toast into my mouth with such force I almost choke. But I'm laughing again. The darkness enclosing my chest lets up and I enjoy the way my shoulders turn weightless.
• After that she proceeds to put food in my mouth in quick succession, allowing me no time to talk.
• After she tips a glass of water in my mouth, she draws away and starts to pack up. An ache grows in my chest. I don't want her to leave.
• I ask, "Why do you say your life is in danger?" Anger knots up my insides. "Have the Hunters threatened you?" I try to steer the emotion away, given how hypocritical it is. I am no better than them in that regard. Because I'm about to do the same thing... Put her life in danger.
• Why she could possibly be unsafe from the Hunters is one puzzle I haven't been able to fix. Or want to. If it turns out that was the case, then she wasn't any better off than I was. And what would that mean?
• That I couldn't hate her completely.
• Or use her for my callous plans.
• It just wouldn't do to assume she might not be a hundred percent in with the Hunters. She is one of them.
• Responsible for my capture.
• And Bowen's suffering.
• Rather than answer me she pushes the trolley out of the room, saying over her shoulder, "Have a nice rest of your day, Malcolm."
• The door closes shut and I'm left to the silence of the room.
• At once, I begin phase one of my plans.
• With a deep grunt, I start to twist my wrist against the manacle. I go faster, feeling a deep grove cut into my flesh. But even as blood starts to flow I don't falter. Clenching my teeth I clamp my eyes shut as the pain intensifies. Then with a groan, I rip my hand free, a chilling crack echoing in the room.
• When I raise my hand to eye level, it is to see something hideous. Bloody ropes of muscles, broken fingers, and bones protruding out from everywhere. I'd already started to feel the dull throb of pain that told me regeneration was underway.
• I close my eyes against blinding pain as I make quick work of the other wrist.
• Once it is freed, I lay staring up at the white ceilings, my chest heaving. Sweat slicks down my temples, blinding me momentarily.
• For the first time since being captured, I drag myself up to a sitting position and take in a deep breath, catching a whiff of vanilla.
• My muscles shoot tight and I'm filled with renewed strength. My claws snap out and I set on the bindings around my legs.
• At the first swipe, the chains give away and I rip at the manacles. Bits and pieces fly around the room and after a few more strikes, it falls away in half.
• Once I work through the second one, I drop back against the bed, boneless.
• Breathing in heavily, my eyes slide close.
• Then I lay in that position for long moments, waiting for Gwen...