THE BROKEN WOLVES

Saige's [POV]

TWO YEARS AGO

Eighteen.

It's not a big number, but it's an important one.

At least to me.

Stinging rain lashes me, making me shiver. It soaks the front of my blue and white striped dress, a uniform so clean I've never been able to work out why it's necessary in a place as sticky as the Stationers Diner.

If today wasn't today, I might find it in me to care about the grief I'll get for serving customers looking like I went for a dive in my clothes. But today is different. Special. Even if the sky is the same murky blue as it is on any other Wednesday afternoon.

I eye the unlit cigarette in my hand, looking just as soggy as my grayish-white tennis shoes, then hurl it away, aiming for a small puddle a few feet away. It nearly makes it but falls short. Again.Poor guy. Instead, it joins its drowned brothers and sisters from the time before and the time before that.

Just this last shift and I get to celebrate receiving the only birthday present I've wanted since Mom closed her eyes when I was six, and no amount of crying and pleading made her open them again.

Freedom.

The only way to get extra breaks in the diner is if you smoke, so I pretend I do too. It's a perk of having a smoker for a boss that I'm happy to take full advantage of. When he's out of cigarettes, it's less of a perk and more of a keep your head down and try not to breathe too loud in case it attracts his attention situation. Nicotine withdrawal, I've learned, is no fucking joke.

I bum a smoke from Oliver, the always greasy-smelling short-order cook in this hole-in-the-wall diner, who has never thought to ask if I'm old enough before he hands one over in exchange for a smile. He's harmless, so I don't mind.

Then I have a two-minute reprieve from the customers, and three minutes in the bathroom to cover up the bruises on my arms and face because the makeup never lasts an entire shift. When I noticed a woman on table six looking at my right cheek a little too long, I knew it was time for a smoke break.

I step out of the kitchen doorway so the rain hits me full in the face. Tipping my head up, I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, so it slides down my face like tears. It's just a little too cold to be refreshing, but I've always liked how it makes me feel. Clean.

Four more hours and I can collect my paycheck, run home to get the rest of the money I've been tucking away over the years and start the hunt for an apartment.

Landlords won't exactly be queuing up to rent to a just-turned-eighteen-year-old with no references, so I'll have to find one that's a little less fussy than-

"Saige! Where the fuck is she?"

My eyes snap open at the half-garbled yell from behind me.

Shit. Dad.

Spinning around, I rush inside, already knowing it's too late when I glimpse a straggly-haired blond guy, Geoff, my boss, on the other side of the counter shoving a dark-haired, blue-eyed man in a stained gray t-shirt and jeans open at the fly away from the cash register.

"She owes me money," Dad screams as he stumbles back, nearly going down from Geoff's hard shove.

Geoff might spend more time smoking or stuffing burgers into his mouth than he does in a gym, the belly that touches the cash register even when he's standing two steps away from it, is proof of that. But he's surprisingly strong for such a flabby guy.

I don't bother arguing with Dad about who owes whom money. It would just be a waste of time.

Guess my last hiding spot was just too damn good.

That or he's too damn drunk to look further than the end of his nose.

"Dad, come on." I head toward him, already knowing I won't have a job waiting for me once I return from taking him home. Not after the last time he decided to pay me a visit at work. Or the time before that.

It's not the first job to end this way, but now I'm eighteen and an adult in the eyes of the world, it will be the last. Finally.

All I can hope is that Geoff will pay me for my last few days, unlike some of my past bosses, who acted like they'd never seen me before when I went back to collect what they owed me.

Keeping my focus on Dad and not on the customers I feel staring, I close my hand around his arm and tug. "Let's get you-"

His blow knocks me off my feet.

I crash into a table with a grunt, the edge hitting like a punch to the gut before I bounce off it. Someone gasps. Not me. I don't have any breath left in me to do more than wheeze.

Sugar, or is it salt? Whatever it is goes flying as ketchup from someone's plate of fries smears all over the front of my dress.

I collapse to the floor, hugging my belly as a dull throbbing heat blooms on the right side of my face.

Geoff is talking, trying to get Dad to leave, but it's as if his voice is coming from a million miles away. I feel numb as I lay on the cold floor staring at the speckled, white plasticky linoleum that I mop every night, fighting to hold back my tears.

Get up, Saige. You just have to hold it together for a little while longer.

What birthday would be complete without a smack in the face in front of a diner full of people?

Feel sorry for yourself later. Get up. Now.

I'm pushing myself to my feet when the front door swings open and a pair of pristine black leather shoes enter the very edge of my vision. "I'm looking for-"

The rich, male voice, full of easy confidence I don't hear often, especially in this shitty part of the city, stops so suddenly that it distracts me from my humiliation.

I lift my head.

My eyes clash with the dark-haired man in an expensive suit at the door. I look at him and I'm amazed he even sees plain, Saige Leo with the drunk for a dad, long dark hair that doesn't know whether it's curly or straight, and blue eyes that are just as confused about whether they're blue or gray.

But he sees me. This man with perfectly styled wavy brown-black hair, and crystal-clear blue eyes that shine like the facet of a gem. Flawless. A catlike smile of satisfaction stretches across his lips, straight white teeth even brighter set against olive-gold skin.

For a second, his eyes shift from blue to silvery gray, and it feels like an animal is staring back at me, but then he blinks and his eyes are that clear blue again.

Must've just been seeing things.

As he stalks toward me, I forget to breathe.

I'm conscious Dad is screaming about needing cash, but only distantly, as if it's happening in another room and not right behind me. But it doesn't seem important. Not with this perfect man striding closer as if the only thing he sees is me.

Or it isn't important until Dad's hand grips the back of my neck. Probably getting ready to hit me again. I brace myself for it, scrunching into myself. But the blow never lands.

"Take your hand off her.Now." The well-dressed stranger's voice is a whip so cold and hard that I flinch.

He might be wearing a smart navy suit-tailored judging by how well it fits him-but with his powerful shoulders and the fierce burn in his eyes, only an idiot would think of taking him on. I'd put him at twenty-five, so at the peak of his physical fitness.

Dad rips his hand away faster than I believed he could move.

Less than a foot away from me, the stranger halts, stretching a large hand out toward me. Silver glints at his wrist, drawing my gaze for a second. The name stamped on the watch's face screams that this guy has money to burn. Seriousmoney. Who else could afford a Rolex?

"You belong with me," he says when I don't move to take his hand. "Don't you feel it?"

I don't understand what he's talking about, so I shake my head no.

"Mate," he murmurs, dropping into a crouch in front of me, his voice low. He seems happy to ignore the silent diners and the fact I have ketchup smeared all over the front of my dress and my chin. "My heart."

Is this a dream, or a fairytale come to life?

"But I don't know you," I tell him, when my pain subsides enough that I can speak, wishing it were true with every bone in my body.

His next smile is so radiant that my heart aches with it. "You will." His gaze darts over my shoulder to where Dad must be and his expression hardens. "You'll never suffer like that again. I swear it."

I cling to the belief that I belong to this beautiful man who says I'm his, desperate to believe he's here to save me.

But he could be anyone.

My eyes search his for any sign he's a predator and I'm about to become prey.

I don't see it.

As if he knows what I'm thinking, a faint smile curves his full lower lip. "There's a coffee shop across the road. Do you know it?"

The big chain coffee shop is where anyone with more than two coins to rub together goes for frothy coffee. That person is never me. I nod.

"We can sit right beside the big window while we wait out the rain. I didn't think to bring an umbrella with me."

My eyes go to his expensive coat and watch.

What were you even doing here?

He reads my mind once again. "My car broke down. Come." The next time he offers me his hand, I take it and he pulls me to my feet as if I'm made of air.

I'm not thin, since I've got too much of a tummy for that. So he shouldn't find it that easy to pull me up with such ease. Yet he does.

He tucks me close beside him, smelling of expensive leather and safety as he leads me away from the diner.

"Saige!" Dad snarls, sounding like he's moving toward me. "Come back here or-"

The man swings back around. "You put your hands on her. Keep talking and I'll put my hands on you." His voice is soft with his threat. "You don't want that."

I turn in time to see Dad shrink back, terror sobering him up fast.

He's defending me. Against Dad. When was the last time that ever happened?

Never, Saige. It's never happened.

After a moment, the man turns back around. His strong hand grips the door handle and swings it open, revealing the rain hasn't slowed even a little. He lowers his gaze to mine. "What's your name?"

I glance up at him. "Saige. Saige Leo"

Pleasure fills his eyes. "Saige Leo, beautiful name. I'm Rylan. How do you feel about me buying you a coffee on such a miserable day?"

It suddenly isn't feeling miserable anymore. But he's still a stranger, so I try to sound more cautious than eager. "Just a coffee?"

He nods. "Just a coffee. And we'll talk."

"About what?"

It's as if he doesn't even notice the ketchup drying on my chin when he smiles at me. "Whatever you want."

"You called me your mate before. Maybe we could talk about that."

He slips out of his expensive-looking suit jacket and drapes it around my shoulders before he leads me out into the rain. "Yes, maybe we could."

I never look back.

Not once.

Saige's [POV]

I feel his gaze skate down my back, linger on my ass, and then move away again. "Have her back tomorrow night."

Rylan's voice is as frigid as it always is. What emotion he has is never for me. But that's okay, I don't have any left for him. Not anymore.

I stand beside the white couch in my five-inch red stilettos and the tight black dress he orders me to wear, my long dark hair, still wet, is slicked back from my face. Other than a swipe of deep red lipstick, I didn't bother with any makeup.

What does a girl need with mascara on the day she's going to die?

Felix rises from the couch with catlike grace. Never taking his gaze from me, he places his whiskey on the glass coffee table and prowls toward me, ropy muscles bunching and releasing under his white shirt.

Most girls would take one look at him and spend the next month masturbating themselves raw because he's just that pretty to look at. All honey-gold skin, hooded dark eyes, a wicked grin, and thick chestnut hair that you just know is as soft as it looks. The designer clothes and impeccable dress sense don't hurt either. Even his scent-rich sandalwood, musk, and vanilla-is delicious. Edible.

But I'm not like most girls. I know Felix.

His wolf is in his eyes the way it is with all of Rylan's pack, but I don't react to the feral intensity of a predator staring back at me the way I would have two years ago.

Back then, they used to terrify me so much that I couldn't look any of them in the eye. You could cut through my fear with a knife. It hung that thick in the air.

It didn't take me long to learn that these other kinds of humans could shift from wolf to man and back again in seconds. Not on a full moon, but whenever they wanted. They would also rip out your throat if you stared at them too long.

Or just because they could.

I never realized how fast it could happen until Rylan caught me in a cab after I ran the first time.

You'd have been hard-pressed to tell the cab driver had been a man at all once Rylan was finished with him. Strips of flesh, hot blood splashing over the cab... and me. The scent of my terror in the cold sweat. And the prickle of Rylan's rage brushing against my skin for trying to deprive him of something that belongs to him and will always be his.

Me.

Sometimes I still remember the smell.

Blood and piss.

Although the warm fingers grazing my cheek are light, Felix's wolf stare burns me right to the bone. "I'd like to keep her this time." The hard ridge of his cock nudges me. "We had so much fun last time."

It's easy now to keep my expression placid when inside I'm still screaming from the lash of his whip.

"She's mine." Rylan's voice is bored.

I can't see him from the angle I'm facing but he'll be on his phone, scrolling through his messages, tapping away responses to his banker's questions about his investments.

"How much do you want for her?" Felix moves closer, his cock a hot brand against my belly. "I'll pay any price."

I meet his gaze without blinking.

"She's not for sale." Rylan's voice is a little less boring. "She's mine."

Felix isn't dropping this, and the spark of rebellion in his eye combined with the possessive grip of his hand on my hip warns me he's about to make a misstep. One he might not survive.

I can't let that happen.

If Felix pushes Rylan too far, he'll change his mind about me going with him, and who knows when I'll get my next opportunity?

My mind flashes to last week. I relive the moment often because it's the fuel I'm going to need to get through the next few hours.

Not many people can pinpoint the exact moment love turns to hate, but I can.

Of him, myself, the world.

All of it.

No more.

Whatever it takes, Saige. This has to end. Today.

I place my hand on Felix's lean, muscled chest and stroke down, raking him lightly with my nails. When I've reached my destination, I close my palm around his cock, a pulsing, hard length, and gently squeeze him through his soft cotton pants.

His eyes go half-lidded with pleasure. When they do, I step forward and touch my lips against his throat, kissing lightly as I stroke him with the firmness I know he likes.

"You want my cock, kitten?" he groans as his hands glide up and down my back, gathering me close to his body.

"I want it," I breathe against his skin, hiding my gaze because if Felix were to peer into them, he'd see the deadness in them and know there's nothing in this world I want. "Give it to me."

A half-human, half-wolf snarl snakes around me, and tension stiffens Felix's body. I feel it happen, but I don't take my hand from his cock, and I don't stop kissing his throat.

Rylan doesn't like it when the men in his pack touch me in his presence. He likes it even less when I touch them. No, that isn't right. It's the wolf that doesn't like it, which is why I do it every opportunity I can. There aren't many ways a human girl can fight back against a shifter, but this is one of mine.

I grasp Felix harder and nip at his throat. His groan of desperate need provokes another snarl from the couch, this one wetter-an animal poised to attack.

Felix rips himself away from me, and when I'm sure I've buried the deadness in my eyes, I open them and turn to the couch.

Rylan is half on his feet, cell phone on the floor, his hands gripping the sides of the couch as if to stop himself from flinging himself at me-or at Felix-and his wolf is in his eyes. The expensively attired businessman always perfectly in control is no more.

An animal stares at me with furious possession and I stare back.

I try not to look at his face anymore. Even after everything he's done to me, he's still the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life.

His beauty tricks me into believing that being chained naked to a bedroom wall isn't the worst thing that could happen to a person. Or that one day soon he'll change back into the man who loved me like no one ever had before.

It never takes him long to wrestle his wolf back inside him, and this time is no different. He blinks and his eyes are once again like the facet of a blue stone. As if nothing happened, he sinks back into the couch and reaches for his phone.

"Have her back tomorrow night. By midnight. Showered."

Because I'm his. Just as he can't stand to have men touch me in his presence, he can't stand their scent clinging to me. How he has no problem giving me to his packmates for them to fuck me as a reward for whatever thing they've done right is a mystery I've never been able to work out. Maybe it's his human side trying to assert dominance over the wolf half that hates to share me?

I don't know. I no longer care.

Felix snags my hand and tugs me across the white minimalist living area toward the front door. He's just reaching for the handle when Rylan's voice stops him. "And Felix, bring up the subject of keeping what's mine again and you'll be dead before your body hits the ground."

Felix pauses. "Yes, Alpha."

We leave the room in silence, the door closing soundlessly behind us. My heels click on the highly polished marble in the hallway outside Rylan's penthouse apartment in the very center of the city, a building so expensive it's full of billionaires who can afford to buy apartments and never set foot inside them.

I know because Rylan once joked about having the building to himself.

So you're a billionaire? I asked him, as we lay wrapped in each other's arms on a lazy Sunday afternoon, the sun streaming over us from the wall of glass. His finger stroked the side of my face as a smile creased the corners of his eyes.

Not a billionaire, but if I were, I'd give you everything.

He gave me everything all right, even the things I didn't want.

The elevator slides open just as soundlessly as the front door closed, the sight jerking me back from the distant past. Without a word, Felix draws me inside the spacious, thickly carpeted stainless-steel space.

"Now, kitten," he murmurs as the doors slide closed behind us and he backs us to one corner, his hands in my hair already pressing me down, "You know what I want."

I do.

It's what he always wants.

All of Rylan's packmates have their wants and needs. Their quirks and cruelties. I've had nearly two years to get them all straight in my head. Felix has simple ones. A blowjob in the elevator, a fuck in his car, a harder fuck against his apartment door with his hand wrapped around my throat, and when he's nice and relaxed, he reaches for his toys. That's when the pain starts.

I draw his zipper down as I sink to my knees. His hands fist in my hair to hold me there because he never cared if I needed air. I learned that the hard way when I blacked out after choking on his cock. Now I remember to breathe through my nose.

Like I said, I know Felix.

And as the elevator makes its way down, I swallow him deep in my throat, letting my mind drift.

The drive to Felix's townhouse north of the city usually takes thirty minutes. Fifty if there's traffic.

By that time, the backs of my thighs are cold from the leather seats, and the front hot from straddling Felix.

Along the way, we cross a bridge over a river. The name isn't important. Or it never has been to me. A bridge is a bridge, after all.

On it, he likes for me to climb into his lap. As he lets cruise control take over, he pounds into me, fucking me hard and fast because the bridge isn't long, so we only have minutes before we hit the busy streets on the other side.

I don't know if a regular human would ever want to attempt such a thing, but I guess with Felix's fast-shifter healing, the possibility of dying in a car crash must not rank too high in his mind. Or maybe that's where his thrill of fucking in a moving car comes from. I've never cared enough to ask.

One glance at his Porsche and the people on the sidewalks would instantly know what we were doing. While Felix likes to live a little dangerously, that's not the kind of public sex he's into.

Just as the name of the bridge isn't important, the time isn't either. But it is pretty.

The day is drifting into the night, dark purple hues and twinkling bright lights in the distance as he drives, one hand lightly clasping the wheel, the other strokes the skin high on my thigh.

Traffic, as always, is a joke, especially on a Friday night, so I feel the impatience building inside Felix at the slow crawl of cars. The moment we hit the bridge, the tension along his jaw melts away and he darts a glance my way.

"Kitten."

I unbuckle my seatbelt. As he reaches for cruise control, I take his hand and squeeze.

He turns to me with his eyebrow raised in question.

I don't respond, just crawl over the console and straddle him before lowering my lips to his. He holds still because I never kiss him on his lips. He kisses mine, but only after he's tied me to his bed and I can't dodge him.

When he demanded to know why I did it, I told him Rylan doesn't want anyone to kiss me on the lips when, in reality, the person who doesn't want it is me. I guess that's the other reason Felix steals kisses from me. To get back at Rylan in his petty way.

But this time, I frame his face with both hands and press a soft kiss on his lips before lifting my head an inch, my eyes locked on his. I pretend I'm looking at Rylan from two years ago, back when I loved him so much I agreed to let him turn me into a wolf shifter.

If I'd known his love came with conditions, or that not all humans can be turned, I'd have looked at him as less of a hero and more of a villain. And run.

I'd have run.

Felix's eyes burn, and his cock twitches against my inner thigh. I lower my head again and give him another kiss; soft, sweet, achingly tender. I make him believe I want him more than I've ever wanted anyone. That there is no one else in the world for me but him.

Groaning, his hands grasp me by my hips and drag me closer.

When he's nicely distracted and responding with urgent need, I reach my right hand behind me, grip the wheel, and wrench it hard to the left.

A squeal of tires, car alarms blare, and Felix rips me away.

Then one stare, his dark eyes wide with surprise.

He's grabbing for the wheel when my head smashes hard against something. Glass shatters. Cold air stings my face.

And then we're falling.

Saige's [POV]

"Witnesses reported seeing the red Porsche before. She was always in his lap on that bridge, having sex, most likely because what else would she be doing there?"

My eyelids flicker.

"You'd think the guy would at least remember to turn on cruise control or, you know, wait until he had her in a bed."

A male snort is the only response.

I sense movement drift toward me, bringing with it a hotdog and onions scent strong enough for the person to have eaten minutes before. "Guess he just couldn't wait." A gaze sweeps my face. It's so intensely penetrating that I want to lean away. "Not that I can blame him. If I had a girl who looked like that, I'd fuck her six ways from Sunday."

"That's hardly the professionalism I'd expect from a cop," an amused voice says.

"She's out cold, and as if I didn't catch you staring at her tits. Just what the hell did they teach you at the Academy?"

"Fuck off, Bradley."

Whoever tucked me in this bed did it so tightly I couldn't move even if I wanted to. And I want to.

Bitter antiseptic, harsh soap, and that unidentifiable scent that tells me I'm in a hospital aren't nearly enough to calm the sickness churning in my belly.

From further away, unhurried and deliberate footsteps approach my room. A door creaks open, letting in a cool wind. "Officers? Is there anything I can help you with? I'm Dr. Simon Trevor, the attending physician today."

When the cooked meat and onion scent move away from me, I relax for the first time. "Just stopped by to question her."

"Well," the new voice says, "there's been no change since the last time. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

This doctor doesn't like these men. Maybe he heard what they said, or maybe he just doesn't like cops in general. After what I just overheard, and from how little the cops I've known before have given a shit about people, I don't like them either.

"Any idea when that might happen?" the one who smells of onions asks. Or is it the one who was staring at my tits?

"It could be tomorrow, it could be a week," the doctor responds in that same cool tone.

"We need a name. A man is dead, and we need to know how that came to be."

Felix.

My heart spikes and a sharp beeping machine silences all voices. Footsteps approach my right side and stop. Someone leans over me. It isn't either of the cops because food smells or male sweat aren't threatening to choke me. Just a woodsy cologne too faint to identify. Not overpowering. Nice.

"Is she waking up?" one cop asks, sounding like he's moving closer.

"There's no sign that she is," the doctor murmurs as if distracted.

What is he doing? Reading the machine? What?

"But the machine. It-"

"Can often be triggered by unexplained brain activity. We see the same thing in our long-term coma patients. The machine sounds an alarm, but the patient sleeps on."

A cool finger peels back the lid of my right eye and I stare up at a man in a white coat, a black stethoscope draped around his neck. Dark red hair, small brown eyes, and a pale face. Younger than I was expecting. He must be in his late twenties or early thirties. That's all I see before the same finger drags my eyelid closed again.

"As I thought, she's not ready to wake."

He's lying.

I feel lucid-aware enough-that one glimpse in my eye should have made that clear. And he didn't shine the light that doctors like to blind you with. He didn't check my pulse or do anything that I would expect a doctor to do.

He doesn't want the cops to know I'm awake.

But why?

"Now, I have my rounds to make. Did you need me to show you the way out?" The doctor's voice is pleasant, friendly even, but I know he doesn't mean it.

"No need." The officer's voice is less pleasant because he knows he's not wanted either. "We can find it. We'll be back."

Three sets of footsteps move toward the door and out of it. A soft click announces their departure and alone, at least for the time being, I let myself think about something I couldn't before.

I'm still alive.

Felix is dead, but somehow, I'm still alive.

Shouldn't it be the other way around?

A flare of hot pain stabs my right side. Gasping, my eyes fly open. White walls, white sheets, and a hard bed. Those are the things I noticed first.

Bent over me is the same brown-eyed, red-haired doctor from before.

For several seconds he gazes down at me without expression before he lifts his hand from my ribs and takes a step back. "Still tender?"

I don't say a word.

"I'm Dr. Trevor."

My eyes dart to the door and find it closed. The sheet pinning me to the bed has been peeled back, so that's one less thing trapping me. It's just the needle in the back of my hand that I'd need to deal with and I can make my escape.

"They've gone. You don't have to worry about seeing any cops until you're well."

From the dim light which cast deep shadows around him, it's later than it was before. It must have been the morning, or maybe lunchtime if the cop smelled like hotdogs and onions. Which means I must have fallen asleep or passed out.

I lick my dry, cracked lips. "What time is it?"

"Six. Dinner time." He nods at the table beside my bed. I glance at it. Something rich and savory drifts from a white plastic-covered dome on a tray.

"Can I have a name?" He plucks a silver clipboard from lower down on my bed and waves it at me. "I won't use it if you don't want to, but we've got three Jane Does at the hospital this weekend and it can get a little confusing," he says, a playful smile curving his lips.

His joke barely registers in my mind.

My stomach rumbles as if it's only now waking up, but I don't have time to eat. Even if I was starving, it still wouldn't be my priority.

I'm alive when I should be dead, which means I'm going to have to move fast if I want to stay that way. And if Rylan isn't here already, he soon will be.

The doctor clears his throat. "You're a miracle."

I dart a glance at him before shifting my attention to the white ceiling.

In a blue hospital gown, I'll attract attention as I make my escape, but maybe I can sneak into the staff changing room, or steal another patient's clothes since I doubt my dress and heels survived the crash. If I have to, I won't bother with the change of clothes at all.

"Few people would survive a car crash like the one you did with so few injuries." After a brief pause as if waiting for a response, he continues. "The fire department pulled you from the water. Between the shattered window and you floating free, it looks like you might've been flung from the car before it hit the river."

Every part of my body aches, but it doesn't hurt the way I'd expect a car crashing into a river with me inside or out of it should hurt. My gaze darts to the tube in the back of my hand that leads to a bag half-filled with a clear liquid. Morphine. Or some other drug.

As much as I want to stay silent until the doctor goes away, I need to know the extent of my injuries and I need to know how long I've been here.

"What other injuries?" I ask, my voice husky.

"You had a pretty nasty laceration on your head." I glance over at him.

He lifts a hand to touch his right temple. "Required stitches. Eight in total. Several smaller cuts on your face and body, but those weren't serious enough to require stitches. From the shattered glass, most likely." His hand moves to his right shoulder. "Dislocated shoulder. Bruised ribs. Fractured wrist. The left one. But that's healing up nicely. Bruises which have mostly faded."

That doesn't sound bad. "And my legs?"

He shakes his head. "No injuries there."

Good. Means there's nothing to stop me from running.

"And a concussion. How is your vision?" he asks.

I glance at a little torch tucked in the front of his white coat, and his stethoscope hanging from around his neck. Surely, he's supposed to check those things for himself instead of just asking me. Isn't he?

"It's okay."

"No double vision, blurriness, or-"

"No. Nothing."

"Then you're even luckier than I thought before. Not everyone recovers from that severe of a concussion. Especially in a week."

Everything in me stills. "A week?"

My heart pounds so hard that I wince when it triggers a new sharp pain in my ribs.

He nods. "A week. That's how long you've been unconscious."

I return my gaze to the ceiling as panic surges. This isn't good. At all. That Rylan hasn't found me and dragged me back yet is in itself a miracle. A week is more than enough time for a wolf to hunt prey, as he was so fond of telling me back when I thought I could escape.

And the cab driver. He'd barely driven me two miles before Rylan was stepping in front of the car, forcing him to halt.

Blood and piss.

I swallow hard.

If I hadn't run, maybe he wouldn't have decided on the chain and the handcuffs beside his bed so he could always keep a close watch on me. Maybe he still would have done it anyway.

"Your friend wasn't as lucky," the doctor continues, "he-"

"He wasn't my friend," I interrupt, my voice cold.

Silence.

"Well, whoever he was, he didn't make it. The car pinned him to the riverbed, and he drowned before anyone could get him out."

Shifters can drown. Who knew?

From all the things I've seen Rylan and the others do, I'd have thought they were so invincible that they could live through a stabbing, drowning, a clubbing over the head, and get up with little more than a headache. Until one of his pack would do something that made Rylan rip out their throats. No one ever got up from that.

I'd get papercuts from flicking through the Sunday papers in bed, and my lips would crack in winter from the cold. When I'd stub my toe on the coffee table, sometimes I'd have a bruise for the rest of the day, but never Rylan. His skin was perfect, unmarked, and unscarred. Always. Being born a shifter had its benefits, he would tell me with a smile, and after he turned me, I'd know those benefits too.

Well, that never happened.

Would Rylan have lived because he was born a shifter instead of being turned like Felix? I don't know.

But they're still men, if only sometimes, Saige. And all men die.

I don't respond to the doctor's revelation. What else is there to say?

"Is there anyone you want me to call? We didn't have a name, so-"

"No." My eyes close. "There's no one." Well, there's Dad, but since I have no cash to give him for booze, he won't care.

Felix is dead.

The only thing Felix liked more than his pleasure was my pain. It wouldn't matter how much I screamed or begged him to stop as my blood soaked through his white sheets. As long as he was having fun, the pain just went on and on.

Or until I passed out, which didn't happen as often as I hoped it would.

Felix wasn't the best of Rylan's pack because there weren't any, but he wasn't the worst either. He was the only one who fed me. It didn't happen all the times that I went with him, but sometimes he would untie me from the bed, sit me up, and feed me cut-up steak, eggs, and fries.

Once he even left a steak knife beside my hand. Just once. After that, he never fed me steak or anything ever again.

I shouldn't care that he's dead-that I killed him-after everything he did to me. Things I learned the hard way would only hurt worse if I didn't do what I was supposed to with a smile and a moan.

I hated every last one of them. But you wouldn't have known it to look in my eyes. My smiles were flawless, my moans so convincing no one could've guessed I was counting down the seconds till I could wash the stink of sex and stale sweat off my body in the shower.

Tears prickle my eyes and I will them not to fall because no shifter deserves my tears. Not a single fucking one of them.

I'm glad Felix is dead. I'm only sorry I wasn't conscious to see it happen.

"I'll be back to check on you later," the doctor says, "so try to rest."

His footsteps move away from me, and I hear him open the door and close it firmly behind him.

The second he's gone, my eyes snap open and I force myself into a seated position. My world goes hazy with pain and I swallow my scream at the stabbing pain in my chest before it can emerge.

For several seconds I don't move, just concentrate on breathing around the pain as I wait for it to fade. When it has, I turn my head to the side and spot a slim white remote that must control the small black screen on the wall opposite. I grabbed it because a remote means TV and a TV means news about what could be happening in the city.

I can't imagine a Porsche being driven off a bridge and into a river wouldn't have made the news.

The first channel is an old black-and-white movie. The second is a sports game. Baseball. But the third... the third I strike gold. The evening news.

Perfect.

I hold my breath as I wait, my hand clenched tight around the remote, for an image of my face to flash on TV with my name and the hospital the paramedics brought me to.

"In other news. The police are no closer to identifying the cause of the fatal car crash on the Lancaster Bridge north of the city last Friday night. Now, back to..."

I tune out the rest of the female reporter's words.

That's it? That's all you have to say?

I stop clutching the remote so tight as I wait for more news about the crash. But there's nothing. Just muggings, burglaries, the usual bad things that happen in every major city, then the weather, and it's over. So I clicked to the next channel, and then the next in case I missed a more detailed report while I was out cold.

An hour passes this way, and on no channel, and in no news report, is there any report other than a tragic fatal car crash on the bridge. There's no mention even of how many people died.

Is that why Rylan hasn't found me yet? Does he think I'm dead?

When the door swings open, I drop the remote in a panic. It bounces off my bed and clatters to the floor. A round-faced nurse in her forties, with her dark hair pulled tight back from her face, and exhaustion creasing her eyes, steps in. "Awake now?"

I nod.

Her gaze dips to the tray beside my bed. "You haven't touched your meal."

"I'm not hungry."

When her lips tighten, I lift a hand and gesture toward my ribs. "My ribs hurt, so..." I let my voice trail off so she can fill in the rest with whatever she wants to think.

The tightness around her eyes and mouth melts away, and sympathy fills her eyes. "Ah, broken ribs are no fun. Well, I'll make a note on your file and we'll see if the doctor can do something about upping your pain medication so you can eat. You're all skin and bones as it is."

A diet of two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a day will do that.

I nod. "I'd just like to sleep if that's okay. Maybe tomorrow it won't hurt so much that I can eat."

Smiling now because I'm proving not to be a difficult patient when she's likely coming to the end of her shift, she crosses over to me. After retrieving the remote from the floor, she flicks the TV off and returns it to the side table. With brutal efficiency, she tucks the sheets so firmly around me that I don't have hope and a prayer of prying them loose without my bruised ribs screaming in agony.

Once she's done that, she collects the tray and makes her way to the door.

It's only when she's gone that I let myself relax as I stare up at the ceiling.

They think I'm dead.

I let out a slow breath of relief.

Rylan once told me that a shifter has one mate. Just one.Ever. There's no rejecting the bond, no walking away. No shifter will ever let what's his go. And especially not an alpha so controlling that he would chain me to his bedroom wall to stop me from running.

Death is the only way to break that bond. Will Rylan's wolf know it? Or will he watch the news, think what I just thought, and let the possessive wolf side of him curl up and die?

I don't know, but a girl can hope.