Chapter 13
His nose woke first. Alan smelled food. Meat. Cheese. Hot.
He didn’t want to wake. This twilight where the ache was muted felt like enough consciousness for the moment. If he could sink back down, he would. But his nose smelled food, and his belly cramped in hunger.
Consciousness came at him whether he wanted it or not. He was hungry. Thirsty. Cold. And the floor was fucking hard.
He opened his eyes first. He saw her at the same moment he saw the food. She was sitting against the wall, her eyes red and swollen. She chewed something, chasing it with a drink from a bright red plastic cup. But her gaze remained trained on him.
“Yours is in front of your right hand,” she said. “It’s probably cooled off enough by now. It’s a Hot Pocket. Not gourmet cuisine, but it’s food.” Her voice was hoarse, her tone soft, but it took on strength with her next words. “I’m so sorry, Alan. I was scared and stupid.”
He waited in silence, slowly recruiting his faculties as he watched her. It looked like she would say more. Her mouth was open, but then her expression faltered. She went from earnest to awkward. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and eventually, she shoved another bite into her mouth.
He wasn’t going to move. He knew what he felt like after spending hours on a hard floor.
But the scent of melted cheese was too alluring.
So without him consciously willing it, he stretched out a hand for the Hot Pocket.
But as soon as his hand came into his line of sight, his mind stuttered to a halt.
His fingers were covered with dried blood. His nails were cracked and black. He couldn’t tell if there were wounds on his hands. There was too much filth. And the idea that those hands would touch his food made him slam his eyes shut while revulsion rolled through his thoughts.
He was a disgusting monster.
“There’s a bathroom to your left. The hot water takes a bit to kick in, but the showerhead is pretty strong. Mark left his spare set of clothes for you. They’re in there, too.”
Mark’s clothing would hang like a sack on him. The man was bigger than a bulldozer.
Alan lay still, his mind at war with himself. He was a monster, and so he ought to look like one, too. But that was the attitude of a sullen child. Lying on the floor in filth was only hurting himself. So he gathered his strength and pushed himself upright.
He was weak, his arms trembling as he levered himself onto hands and knees.
But this time when he opened his eyes, he saw the iron bolt in the floor.
He saw the dried blood and remembered his chains.
Automatically, his lips curled back in a growl and his joints seemed to swell, but that was as far as it went.
No thickening in his muscles. Just a gnawing ache in his bellow.
“No chains,” Tonya said, her voice breaking on the words. “I’m so sorry.”
He shot her a glare. “I’m free?” he rasped. God, his voice sounded and felt like a rusty saw.
He watched her flinch, but then her gaze steadied. Tonya always told him things straight out. No hedging. “The door at the top of the stairs is locked. Mark has the key. Shouldn’t be a problem for you when you can shift again.”
His chin jerked up. “What did you do to me?”
She swallowed. “There’s a serum for suppressing the shifter. Mark had it with him in case he started slipping. We gave it to you while you were unconscious.”
“I’ve had it before,” he said as he tried to shove the memories away. Evil Einstein had told him it would ease his transition, but that had been a big fat lie. “It started the seizures.”
He hadn’t thought she could go paler, but she blanched to a ghostly shade of white.
“We hoped...I thought it would give us time to talk.” She took another breath.
“Einstein has a theory. He believes that people like you—the ones who have been activated—go from normal to feral in weeks instead of years. That explains the sudden aggression.”
“And the crazy,” he said. Ferals always went crazy. That’s why they were so dangerous. Their human minds just couldn’t handle being all animal, all the time.
“So we thought the suppressant would help. If we knock back the shifting ability—give your mind a break for a time—then you can figure out how to manage better. How to control—”
“The monster?” he interrupted. He shook his head. “Even if I can’t shift, he’s still there. He still…owns me.”
“No, he doesn’t!” she snapped. Then she moderated her tone, though part of him warmed at her passionate defense. How wonderful to know that someone else would fight for him when he’d lost the strength. “They’re still adjusting the serum. We’ll figure it out.”
He dropped back onto his heels. He didn’t want to figure any of it out. He just wanted it to end. But again, that was the tantrum of a child. He had to remember. He had to know what had been done to him.
“Did I convulse?” he finally asked.
“No,” she said rapidly. “It seemed to quiet you. Though that might have been the tranq dart.”
He did remember that. The thud that knocked him back on his heels. Mark stepping out from behind a tree. And then...Jesus, Mark had held him in a headlock while he’d fought like a crazed animal. He abruptly scanned Tonya, not seeing any injuries but it was hard to tell.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. It was the other way around.”
Monsters deserved to be hurt. He flexed his calves then pushed to his feet. He was surprised he wasn’t crippled. But then shifters—even monsters—seemed to heal quickly.
Tonya looked up at him, her expression wary. “I’m so sorry, Alan.”
Yeah. He got that. Didn’t mean he forgave her.
All he had to do was look to the iron ring in the floor and emotions churned furiously in gut.
But he didn’t exactly hate her, either. He looked away rather than face the roiling emotions whenever he thought of her.
Lust. Anger. Affection. Fury. He couldn’t make sense of it.
“Any coffee?” he asked. Damn, he hadn’t wanted to talk civilly yet, but some things were paramount.
“I wish,” she drawled.
Not half as much as he did. Whatever drugs they’d given him—tranquilizer or monster suppressant—were still swirling around in his body. Food would likely help, but he had to clean up first. He just couldn’t stomach anything else.
The bathroom had the bare essentials. Tonya’s go bag was there, complete with a toiletry kit and disposable toothbrush and paste.
It was part of being a cop, he supposed.
Or the fact that Tonya liked to be prepared for any eventuality.
He stared at it for a long moment, seeing her in her things.
Her scent in the travel-sized deodorant and shampoo bottle.
Her light blond hair in the compact brush.
Even a small tube of lipstick in a soft rose color.
Conflicted.
He turned away rather than think about the woman who had drugged and chained him. Especially since she was also the woman who had orgasmed around his hand and held him while he slept.
He lingered in the shower longer than he intended, but eventually hunger pushed him out of the cleansing heat.
By the time he put on Mark’s oversized basketball shorts and a too wide Detroit Tigers tee, he felt ridiculously human.
As if he’d stepped back in time to his awkward adolescence when nothing ever fit right on his rapidly growing body.
He ate like one, too, gobbling down two Hot Pockets without tasting them or even caring when the second one seared his tongue.
He noticed that the third had chicken in it, but that was all that registered as he washed it down with tepid water.
And then he was cleaned, fed, and alone with Tonya without any decision on what he would do next.
He was just glancing up the stairs, flexing his hands to see if he could shift yet when she spoke up.
Her words were rushed, as if she had to force herself to say them.
But once her words registered, everything in him stilled to a frozen silence.
“I’ve bonded to you.”
He turned to look at her. She was standing next to the microwave with her shoulders back and her chin lifted. It was a defiant posture, one that he knew she adopted whenever she felt vulnerable.
“I know you’re thinking about leaving, and I don’t blame you. But you need to know that. Just in case you care.”
He cared about everything she said. Always had. But her words made no sense and so he stared at her and wished—again—for some thick, black coffee.
“It’s insane, I know. But I can’t think of any other reason for me to do the things we’ve done.”
He snorted. “Because you like whack jobs?”
“Get your head out of your ass!” she snapped. “God damn it, Alan, you’re the smartest man I know. You’re pissed, with reason. You’re off balance for damn sure. Join the fucking club. I’ve got a situation here, and I’d appreciate it if you gave me five minutes of your time to help me deal with it.”
He arched a brow, his sense of humor kicking in. Trust Tonya to tell a dangerous, unstable person to get his head out of his ass. “Fine,” he said. “You’re wrong. Get some sleep and some real food, and it’ll all be gone by morning.”
“Fuck you,” she snapped. Then her gaze went to the bed they’d shared. “My bear picked you and now I haven’t a good goddamned idea what to do about it.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, stressing the word as loudly as he could. “When was the last time you slept? Ate a decent meal? Tonya, you just started as beta and that’s a nightmare of a job. You’re not thinking straight.”
“And you’re not listening. My bear picked you. All you have to do is enter the room and she’s wet and spreading for you. Even if I wanted to let you walk out that door, she’ll follow you. She’s yours and you need to get your head out of your ass to deserve that kind of devotion.”