Chapter 12
“What do I do? What do I do?”
Tonya whispered the question over and over.
Her voice was a hoarse rasp from trying to reach Alan.
All she had left was doubt and pain, reverberating in her question.
She was crouched on the concrete floor, just out of range.
She’d tried to go to him over and over, but each time he’d lashed out with teeth and claws.
It hadn’t made any difference that he’d stayed human.
All the serum had done was suppress the change.
The animal was still there, fighting in blind panic to survive.
“What do I do? What do I do?”
The agony of what she’d seen—what she’d caused—would haunt her for the rest of her life.
She’d watched the fight go out of him then.
His body had betrayed him. She had betrayed him.
And now his mind was gone, too. At the very end, he’d finally focused on her, his eyes bleary with defeat.
He’d blinked twice and took a breath. She’d straightened up, thinking that perhaps rationality had returned.
But before she could draw breath, he closed his eyes. Unconscious.
So now she crouched just out of reach and sobbed. She’d done that to him. She’d destroyed him. And now what was she supposed to do?
The answer was obvious, and she hated herself for questioning her choice. She had to unchain him. She couldn’t put him through that again. She couldn’t.
But what if he woke up violent? She wasn’t able to shift to grizzly yet.
She was too tired. And since the adrenaline of the last hour hadn’t made her sprout fur, she guessed it would be at least a day before she could go bear.
That meant she would be defenseless against him.
Even before his change, Alan had trained hard as a martial arts fighter.
He’d needed the skill just to maintain some safety when messing around with his shifter friends.
Add to that his new strength and speed, and she would be hard pressed to defend herself.
Hell, they’d already tangled once monster against bear, and she’d barely survived.
If she unchained him and he woke able to shift?
He could kill her. She had her gun outside in her car.
Mark had wanted her to bring it inside, but she knew that shifter speed made guns a liability in a small basement space.
Too easy for him to knock it out of her hand.
Too easy for the wrong person to get a hold of a weapon.
So her pistol remained locked in her car. And since Mark had left to get more of the suppressant, she was alone with Alan. It was what she’d wanted. She had to explain why they’d locked him up. Why they’d chained him like an animal. Why they were treating him this way.
Idiot.
She had to set him free. If she had any hope of reaching him, she had to do it in a way that made him feel safe. And since she’d had Mark padlock the door to the basement, the only person she risked was herself. She just hoped the suppressant lasted long enough for her to talk rationally to him.
So she straightened out of her crouch. Her muscles burned as she forced them out of her taut position.
She walked on bare feet to the opposite side of the room and pulled out the key to the shackle.
Its weight was repugnant in the way it sat cold and cruel in her hand.
But she held it tight, knowing that was a fraction of what Alan felt.
All her fault. What an idiot she was.
She crept closer, moving by inches and watching for any reaction from Alan. He remained still, his breath quick and shallow. As if even when the rest of him had collapsed, his breath still fought. His body still knew he was chained.
Why was this so hard? Having decided to risk it, she should be quick and decisive with her actions.
Part of her trusted Alan implicitly, and it urged her forward.
But her logical side kept flashing images of rabid animals, of addicts who needed a fix, of women who believed in their abusive husbands because their hearts couldn’t accept the truth.
Was she one of them now? One of those foolishly, hopeful women that she’d sneered at all her life?
Yes.
Finally, she just did it. She opened the lock on the ankle band. She popped the piece apart, cringing at the drying blood everywhere. The chains fell with a heavy thunk, and she froze, watching to see if he would react.
Nothing. Had his breath steadied? Was it slower? She couldn’t tell. She stepped backward, watching him carefully. Did he know that he was free? Would he understand that she was sorry?
She watched him for another ten minutes.
Fifteen. But the more she stared, the more she despised the sight of the heavy iron.
There was rust on it, and she didn’t like it that close to his open wounds.
A little late to be worrying about that now, but she did.
So she crept closer again. This time she grabbed the chain from the ground.
She unfastened it from the bolt in the floor.
Did she move him enough to take the shackle away? She might wake him.
First she dealt with the chain, setting it back in the closet where they’d found it. Then she stared at him. She had to risk it. She couldn’t stand seeing the heavy band there, even open. It was still touching him, and she hated it.
So she crawled back. As gently as possible, she lifted his leg. If he woke, one good kick would give her broken ribs. But he didn’t react. She grabbed the slick iron and hauled it away. Five minutes later it was out of sight, but certainly not out of mind.
And then she waited with the same question burning through her thoughts.
What do I do now?