Lynx (Wild Wolves MC Book 1), page 10
“Fuck’s sake.” How are we going to spin this?
“He feels better, healed,” Corey adds, like I hadn’t realised that for myself. “Not sure he believed that bollocks about numbing pain relief either.” His smile is wry as he adds, “Wouldn’t surprise me if he ignores everything I said up there and either has a look for himself or tries to get out of bed.”
Before I can answer, Callum rounds the side of the house. He glances between us but doesn’t ask, so I presume he’s heard enough of our conversation to know what’s going on.
He stops in front of us. “We’ve got about five minutes before the friend gets here. What’s the plan?”
Shit. That’s what we’d gone to see Morgan about before being blindsided with his accelerated healing. “I was gonna move him to one of the rooms so it doesn’t look like we’ve got our own fucking hospital here, but the minute we get him up out of that bed, he’s going to know that something’s up with those wounds.”
“We could tell him.” Callum doesn’t even flinch when I snarl at him. “Or not.”
“I think he already knows about us.” Corey’s eyebrows rise when Callum and I spin to face him. “Maybe not us, but shifters. You know he remembers more about that night than he’s admitting to.”
Yeah, I did.
He’d been lying when we questioned him, I could smell it. But how much does he know? How much does he remember? More importantly, how much does he believe? Doesn’t matter if he saw it with his own eyes or not. Sometimes the mind doesn’t want to accept things even when the evidence is there.
“No. We’re not telling him the truth.” They both want to argue, but we don’t have time. Not now. “It’ll put the club, the whole pack at risk and I’m not willing to do that without consulting the others and putting it to a vote.” As alpha I could make that decision and the whole pack would have to abide by it, but we aren’t your typical pack any longer.
If we ever have been.
“This isn’t something we can ever take back—”
“We can always kill him if he reacts badly.” Callum says it so matter-of-factly, and he’s right.
I should be thinking that exact same thing, but I’m not. I’m struggling against the urge to lunge at him. To protect what’s mi— I close my eyes instead and reach for the control I so desperately need right now. “I’d rather not do that if I don’t have to.” My voice is rougher than I’d like.
“Lynx?” Callum’s eyes narrow when I slowly open mine to look at him. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Yes.
Fighting my instincts is never fun.
“No.”
He looks less than convinced, but we don’t have time for a debate.
“Will it be easy? No.” I meet his eyes, letting him see the resolve in mine. “But when has that ever been our thing?”
There’s a beat of silence that seems to last forever, and then he laughs and shakes his head. “Goddess help us.”
Corey clears his throat, gaze flitting between us. I know he’s wondering what he’s missing, but I also know he won’t ask. He’s pack but he’s not a part of the club, by choice. And there are some things he doesn’t need or want to know about. Not sure this falls into that category, but I’ll take it for now. “So, what do we do about Morgan?”
What do we do?
I run a hand through my hair, thinking, and send a silent prayer to the moon for inspiration to fucking strike because I’ve got nothing.
“We could just lie,” Corey offers. “Tell Morgan that his wounds are healing well and aren’t as bad as we first thought.”
“You said he’ll notice the minute he starts walking around.”
“He will, but what’s more believable? That either I’m a shit doctor or we lied to him—both of which I think he’s already thinking—or that he’s suddenly got accelerated healing?”
Well, when he puts it like that. “Fine. Do that. Then bring him outside to meet his fucking friend.”
He nods and turns to head back inside, glancing at me when I fall into step beside him.
“I’m coming with you.”
He doesn’t bother to hide his smirk, but I do my fucking best to ignore it.
Morgan’s sat up in bed when we get there.
On his fucking phone.
Who the hell left that with him? There’s no one else in the room apart from Nico in the other bed, so my glare is wasted. Whatever he’s doing on it captures all his attention and he hasn’t noticed us in the doorway.
I put a hand on Corey’s arm to stop him going any further.
This isn’t one of my better ideas, but I can’t fight it. I need a moment to just look when he’s not scowling at me like I’m shit on the bottom of his fucking shoe or bleeding out on the forest floor. Got to admit, the way he looked at me then was a far cry from the way he’s looked at me ever since we brought him back here.
Do you blame him?
No.
Sandy blond hair falls forward over his eyes as he stares at his phone screen. There’s still blood in his hair. The rest of him has been cleaned and bandaged, but traces of red cling to the shaved sides.
Anger ripples through me.
I can still smell the evidence of another pack, other wolves on his skin, even though it’s probably all my imagination at this point. His bruises have faded. The dark purple marks now a dirty yellow. I remember what they looked like though, and the images draw a soft growl before I can smother it.
Morgan’s head snaps up, pale blue eyes meeting mine. There’s no warmth in that glare, just an iciness that chills me to my core. Thank fuck, because my wolf needs no encouragement where he’s concerned.
I grin back at him, baring my teeth. His eyes widen and I know it’s because they’re a touch sharper than human teeth should be. “Ash’s almost here. You need to meet him outside.”
His mouth drops open like he can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. He then gestures the length of his body. “Thought I wasn’t supposed to move ’cause of all the fucking stitches.”
I catch the twitch of Corey’s lips out the corner of my eye. I wonder if Morgan would be so quick to mouth off if he knew what I was. What he’s surrounded by.
Part of me itches to find out.
“About that,” Corey hedges, and here goes. “Your wounds have healed faster than I was expecting. The injures you sustained weren’t as severe as we first thought.” His delivery is smooth, confident, not at all like it’s something we made up five minutes ago.
I can almost read the thoughts playing through Morgan’s mind. His first instinct is not to believe us. There’s no hiding the pain he was in when he first woke up here. Corey maintains his earnest expression and I see the moment Morgan decides to take him at his word.
He trusts him.
I don’t know why that comes as such a shock, but it does, and the jealousy that flares alongside it takes me by complete surprise. So does the tingle at the tips of my fingers.
Fuck’s sake.
I have seconds to react before claws pierce through the skin.
Shoving one hand behind my back, I grip the door frame with the other. The sound of wood splintering covered up by Corey’s loud cough.
Morgan glances between us, brow furrowed, but his gaze settles back on Corey. The way his expression softens make my teeth itch. “What’s that mean then?”
“Well, your stitches may need to stay in for a bit longer to be safe, but you can get up and move around. Just do it slowly to start with.”
My phone vibrates with a text.
Cal: He’s here.
As I read it, the sounds of a car approaching reach us through the open window. Morgan can’t hear it, but his phone lights up with a message. I know who it’s from the second he reads it. His body tenses, bottom lip drawn between his teeth before he looks at me this time. No softness in his gaze when it’s directed my way. “Ash’s here. What the fuck do I say to him?”
“As much of the truth as possible.” I match him for coldness, even as my claws still cling to the doorframe. “You came off your bike. We patched you up and you spent a few nights recovering. Simple.” The fact that he’s healed quicker than expected might work in our favour. At least we don’t have to explain why he’s not at a hospital.
“Right. And when he offers to give me a lift back home, am I just free to go?” One eyebrow rises in challenge.
No.
That’s the first answer that fights to come out. I don’t want to let him out of my fucking sight, but at this point I’m not a hundred percent sure why.
Liar.
“Yes.” I grit out. “If that’s what you want.”
“Flint said the Feral Beasts might come back to finish the job.” He spits it at me, but there’s an edge to his voice. He’s scared.
He should be.
But that’s not my problem. It can’t be. I bury those feelings deep and shrug. “They might.”
“You utter fucking bastard. You really don’t give a shit, do you?” Underneath the contempt, there’s a trace of hurt, and it creeps under my armour striking deep. “Why go to the trouble of saving my life if you’re just gonna throw me to the wolves again?”
If you only knew how true that is.
He startles when he realises what he said, and I know instantly that Corey was right. Morgan Webb knows that shifters exist.
He fucking remembers.
He recovers quickly, chin tilting up. “Can I at least have some clothes if I’ve got to go meet Ash?” He gestures to the gown he’s wearing, and it hits me that he’s naked under there.
My claws lengthen even more.
I need to leave.
Facing Corey, I say, “Bring him down when he’s ready.” Then without so much as a glance at Morgan, I carefully pull my claws out and leave.
I still hear the grumbled, “What a fucking wanker,” as I walk down the hallway.
“I changed his dressings before he got dressed,” Corey says as we watch Morgan walk gingerly across the yard to greet his friend. “Taped them up and told him not to mess with them. Hopefully he won’t be tempted to take a look before we can get those stitches out.”
“How healed is he?” I watch Ash get out of the car and give Morgan a thorough once-over like he’s checking to make sure he’s in one piece.
“There’ll be scarring,” he says softly. “Even my blood isn’t that good.”
My wolf bristles, but I ignore it.
So does Corey, because I know he noticed. “But the wounds look about a week old, not a few days.” He glances at Morgan. “He’s probably good to go home, as long as we take the stitches out first.” With that, he leaves me and heads back upstairs.
Callum joins me on the steps outside the front of the house, where Flint and Jet already lean against the wall.
Ash eyes us warily as he waits for Morgan to reach him. As soon he gets close enough, Ash hisses, “What the fuck happened?” He reaches for Morgan, then drops his hands like he doesn’t know what to do.
Morgan winces. “Came off my bike.”
His wounds might have healed quicker than expected, but Morgan still walks with a kind of shuffle-limp. I don’t know if that’s the stitches pulling or if his wounds aren’t healed internally as much as we thought. Either way, it helps sell our lie.
Ash’s flat-out glaring at us now, even though I can smell the fear rolling off him.
“I like him,” Flint murmurs, but we all hear him. Callum gives him a withering look, but my gaze is fixed on Morgan.
On the way Ash finally pulls him into a careful hug. My lip curls until Callum elbows me.
“Are you hurt?” Ash whispers, letting Morgan go so he can see his face.
I wish I could see it, but I only get the back view as he shrugs a shoulder.
“Little bit.”
Jet snorts.
“Where?”
“Got some scrapes on the back of my legs and my stomach.” He shrugs once more, like it’s no big deal.
Ash glares at us again, like somehow we caused it, then steps in close. He drops his voice to a whisper, thinking it gives them privacy. “Did you really come off your bike? Or was it them?”
Callum tenses beside me.
Lie or truth? I wonder which way Morgan’ll go when he thinks we can’t hear.
“It wasn’t them,” he says after a beat.
Truth, then. Just not all of it.
But either Ash is not stupid or whatever’s on Morgan’s face right now answers the rest of his question. “Who, then?”
“Not here,” Morgan whispers.
“What the fuck is going on, Mor?”
Morgan shakes his head. “You need to leave and go home.”
“I’m taking you with me.”
“No.”
“No?” Ash grabs Morgan by the shoulders, and I really want to peel those fucking hands off him. I grunt in frustration when Morgan doesn’t even shake him off. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t come back with you.”
“Where else are you going to go?”
Morgan flinches and I growl, low and menacing, but thank fuck neither of them notices.
“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that.” Ash takes a step back but doesn’t let go. “You said your house is gone.”
“It is. Dad’s gone to his brother’s—”
“Please tell me you’re not going to live with that piece of shit?”
Morgan shakes his head. “Fuck no. I just . . . I might take off for a bit when my bike’s fixed. Take some time to sort my head out.”
“What about work?”
“I’ll take holiday.”
Ash finally lets go of him, and some of the tension leaves my body. Now if only he’d give him some personal fucking space too. “You’ve not joined a biker gang then?”
Callum huffs out a laugh this time.
Biker gang.
Is that how they see us? I guess it’s not that far from the truth.
“No.” Morgan sighs, and it’s full of hurt and defeat and tugs at me in ways I don’t want. “Turns out I’m not good enough.”
Ash huffs. “Too fucking good, more like.” When he glances at us this time, he doesn’t even try to hide the contempt.
“He’s got balls,” Callum muses. “I’ll give him that.” There’s a hint of reluctant admiration to his tone.
“Are you really not coming home with me?” Ash asks.
“No. Not . . . not yet, at least. I just need some time to get my head straight after the house and everything.”
Ash bites his lip, frustration evident. Even from here I can tell how much he wants to grab Morgan and bundle him in the car. I almost feel sorry for him. The sigh he lets out sounds like resignation. “You better keep in touch.”
“Promise.”
“Every fucking day, I mean it.” He pulls Morgan into another hug, and I fight not to react this time. “And don’t stay away too long. You know I’m way too needy for that.”
Morgan laughs, but there’s an underlying sadness that I don’t think Ash’s picked up on because he just claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Morgan watches Ash get back in his car and drive back to the gates. When they close after him, he takes a shuddering breath that I can almost feel.
“Go check on the other two,” I tell Callum. “Then we need a meeting.” He disappears back inside, followed by Flint and Jet.
Morgan hasn’t moved. He doesn’t even turn around when I jump down the last few steps and walk over to him. I make enough noise that he has to have heard me.
It pisses me off, not gonna lie.
“Why didn’t you go back with him?”
“Because I don’t want to drag him into this.” Fucking finally, he has the manners to turn and face me. “If there’s a chance the Feral Beasts are gonna come after me again, I don’t want Ash or his family anywhere near me.”
Brave and loyal.
He’d make a good wolf.
But it’s never fucking happening.
“They might leave you alone,” I say instead. To be honest, I have no idea what those arseholes will do. If Corey’s theory is right and they attacked him because he smelt like me? Well, his little stay at this compound won’t have helped matters.
Not my problem, though.
Maybe if I say it enough times it’ll sink in.
“You really think they’ll let it go?” For once there’s no edge to his voice, no glare sent my way.
It forces honesty where I should probably have gone for the lie. “No. I have no fucking clue what goes through their heads at the best of times. But as you’re already aware, they’re not nice.” Understatement. “If they find out you’re alive and think there’s a chance you’ll go to the police . . .” I don’t need to finish that sentence.
“Right. Yeah.” He sighs again, looking so lost and alone, it’s an effort not to cave and reach for him like part of me—most of me— is so desperate to do. “I should just go away for a bit.”
“Probably.”
“I’ll just—” He stumbles as he turns, legs buckling. Instinct has me surging forward to catch him, arms wrapping tight around a surprisingly hard body.
His scent hits me a second later. Lingering traces of blood and pain, undercut with the subtle essence of grass and . . . flowers. Fuck me, I refused to put a name to it before, but he smells like summer. I can’t help it, I inhale long and deep. My head dips until I’m so close to his skin I can feel the heat coming off it.
And I can still smell them.
As my nose skims the base of his throat, it’s so faint. I almost miss it for what it is, but I’m an alpha. My senses are heightened more than most and there’s no mistaking the taint of Feral Beast that clings to him.
They bit him.
Right here.
Right where my mouth hovers over skin that has now healed, but I remember the teeth marks that they left.
How fucking dare they.
My jaw tightens, fangs already breaking the skin as my body floods with the need to bite. The primal urge to replace their mark with one of my own. It’s so overwhelmingly powerful, my wolf dangerously close to the surface, I shouldn’t be surprised at the rumbling growl building in my chest.
