Chapter 4 #2
I worked with precision. I flushed the wounds with saline. I dug deep for the slivers that had buried themselves near the bone. Every time I touched a raw nerve, his hand would spasm in mine, his fingers curling instinctively to crush, but he forced them open. He forced himself to be vulnerable.
"Almost done," I murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of my face with my shoulder. "Just one more piece."
It was deep. I had to probe.
Spike let out a low, guttural noise, his free hand gripping the edge of the workbench until the metal groaned.
"Got it," I whispered, pulling out a jagged piece of rusted nail.
Blood welled up, fresh and bright red, no longer sluggish.
"It's bleeding properly now," I said, relief washing over me. "That means the healing factor should kick in."
I doused the knuckles in antiseptic—he hissed through his teeth—and began to wrap his hand in gauze.
I was gentle. I treated his hand like it was something precious, not a weapon of mass destruction. I wrapped the white bandage around his palm, over his wrist, securing it tightly.
When I finished, I didn't let go immediately. My small hands were resting on his bandaged fist. My thumb brushed over the uninjured skin of his wrist, right over his pulse point.
It was hammering. Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Riley," he said.
I looked up.
Our faces were inches apart. I hadn't realized how close we had gotten during the procedure. I was leaning into his space; he was leaning down.
The fever in his eyes had receded, replaced by a clarity that was terrifying. He was looking at me with an intensity that stripped me bare. There was no mockery. No anger. Just... wonder.
"You have gentle hands," he murmured. The praise was rough, reluctant, as if he didn't want to say it but couldn't help it. "For someone who thinks she's weak."
"I never said I was weak," I whispered. "I said I was breakable. There's a difference."
"You didn't break," he said. He turned his hand over, grabbing my fingers. He didn't squeeze. He just held them. "You dug iron out of a wolf's hand and you didn't even shake."
"I was shaking on the inside," I admitted.
"Yeah?" He leaned closer. I could smell the peppermint on his breath, masking the copper scent. "You hid it well."
The air between us changed. It wasn't the volatile, explosive tension of the tunnel or the party. This was heavier. Quieter. It was the pull of gravity. It was the terrifying realization that I liked him.
I liked the way he sat still for me. I liked the way he trusted me with his pain.
"Spike," I breathed, my gaze dropping to his mouth.
The door to the equipment room banged open.
We sprang apart like guilty teenagers. Spike snatched his hand back, spinning on the stool. I jumped up, knocking the tray of medical supplies. The tweezers clattered to the floor.
"Riley! Are you in here? The keypad light was green, and I—"
Coach Miller marched around the corner of the cages. He stopped dead when he saw us.
He looked at Spike, shirtless and sweating on a stool.
He looked at me, flushed and breathless, standing between Spike's legs.
He looked at the first aid kit.
Coach Miller was a human, a former Marine, and he took zero crap from anyone, Alpha or otherwise. He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing.
"Do I want to know?" Miller asked, his voice flat.
"Training accident," Spike said instantly, his voice smooth. The lie came easy to him. "Cut my hand on a loose screw in the weight room. Riley was patching me up."
Miller looked at the bandaged hand. Then he looked at Spike’s face. He clearly didn't buy it, but he also clearly didn't want to fill out the paperwork for an incident report.
"Right," Miller said. "Well, since you're both here, you just saved me a trip to the Hive."
He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them.
Spike caught them with his good hand. His reflexes were already coming back.
"Keys to the Blackwood Cabin," Miller said. "The caretaker quit this morning. Said something about 'too much wolf activity' in the woods. I need someone to go up there and prep the place for the retreat next weekend. Check the generator, stock the pantry, make sure the pipes aren't frozen."
Spike looked at the keys, then at me.
"Coach," Spike started, "I have midterms. I can't leave campus."
"And that's why Bennett is going with you," Miller said, pointing a finger at me.
"I spoke to Dr. Aris. He says you two are practically attached at the hip these days for this tutoring thing.
So, kill two birds. You go up to the cabin early—tomorrow morning.
You spend three days prepping the house and studying.
No distractions. No parties. No girls, Thorne. "
Miller looked pointedly at me. "Except for your tutor, who is strictly off-limits, understood?"
"Understood," Spike said, his voice void of emotion.
"Good. Riley, make sure he actually opens a book. Spike, make sure the pipes don't burst. I want the cabin ready by Friday when the rest of the team arrives."
Miller turned and walked out. "Don't make me regret this!" he yelled over his shoulder. The heavy door slammed shut.
The silence rushed back in, but it was different now. It was loaded.
Spike looked down at the keys in his hand. Then he looked at me. A slow, dark smile spread across his face. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of the wolf who had just been handed the keys to the hen house.
"Well, Mouse," he said softly. "Looks like we're going on a trip."
"I can't go to a cabin with you," I said, panic rising in my throat. "Alone? For three days? In the woods?"
"You heard the Coach," Spike said, standing up. He towered over me again, the vulnerability of the medical moment gone, replaced by his usual dominance. But there was something else underneath it now. A shared secret. A pact.
He stepped closer, backing me against the workbench. He held up his bandaged hand.
" besides," he murmured, "I can't drive with this hand. And I can't cook. And I definitely can't write an essay on the Shifter Wars."
"So?"
"So, I need you."
The words hung there. Simple. Devastating.
I need you.
He wasn't talking about the essay.
"We make a deal," Spike said, lowering his voice. "You come to the cabin. You help me pass this test. You help me... function." He gestured to his hand. "And in return?"
"In return?" I asked, breathless.
"In return, I promise not to eat you." He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Unless you ask me to."
My knees went weak.
"That's not a deal," I managed to say. "That's a threat."
"Take it or leave it, Riley. But if I fail this test, I lose my eligibility. And if I lose my eligibility, your scholarship fund dries up. Aris made that pretty clear."
He had me. He knew he had me.
I looked at him—the scars, the tattoos, the bandaged hand I had just healed. I thought about three days in isolation. No Vera. No campus rules. Just snow and fire and him.
It was a terrible idea. It was the worst idea I had ever heard.
"Fine," I whispered. "I'll go."
Spike pulled back. His eyes were glowing gold.
"Good girl," he purred.
He grabbed his hoodie and turned to leave. At the door, he paused.
"Pack warm, Riley," he called out, not looking back. "A storm is coming."
I stood alone in the equipment room, listening to the echo of his footsteps. I touched my own wrist, where my pulse was racing so fast it felt like a vibration.
He was right. A storm was coming. And I had just agreed to walk straight into the eye of it.