This was Oliviaâs fault.
Maya brought the bottle to her lips, taking a large swig as she paced around the bed. ~His bed~. She wasnât going to come in. She was going to wait until his fate was decided. Dead or alive.
But they wouldnât stop pestering her about it.
What was the big deal?
Yes. He was her mate. He was ~the one~.
Except, she didnât know the one. She didnât know the first thing about him.
He survived, she knew that much. Whatever happened in that field, he survived it. He was the only one to do that.
But that didnât tell her much about him as a person. Would he drive her crazy? Olivia used to drive Alex mad. She still did occasionally.
Would he upset her? Would they have something to talk about?
She used her free hand to climb onto the bed, sitting near his feet. Olivia had done a good job on him. The wounds she had previously seen on him were patched up, including the large one where he had been stabbed.
There was something attached to his arm. Keeping him hydrated, perhaps? There was also something supporting his neck.
She couldnât see what his lower body looked like.
The sheet covered his waist and honestly, once they had pulled him out of the ground, once she had realized ~who~ he was, she hadnât bothered to check the rest of his injuries.
Maya couldnât even remember the walk back. Jason and some other pack members had carried him back to the packhouse, forced to do so in their human forms.
It had taken much longer than it should have. If memory served right, she had gone ahead in her wolf form.
The whole night was a blur.
He looked peaceful.
In pain, but peaceful.
Each breath he took looked painful. His chest rose and fell, shaking each time he inhaled. There would be a twitch of his arms like he was having spasms.
~Another swig of wine~.
She pressed her lips together before inching herself closer to his face. And closer, and closer. She stopped when her hip was pressed to his waist.
Maya leaned over, studying his facial features. ~At least the handsome part of her fantasy was true~. Despite the cuts and bandages, he seemed to be good-looking.
There was that.
Maybe he was a jerk. ~Meh. ~It might be easier if he ~was~ a jerk.
She placed her hand on his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from his tan skin.
She ran her fingers across his chest, feeling every slash and cut that had been inflicted on him. The bruises that had formed around his injuries were turning light blue and yellow.
~They had been there for a while~.
He had been in the ground for a while.
How did he survive the nights and the cold?
How on earth did he end up in that damn hole to begin with? Was there an attempt to bury him alive? If so, they did a piss-poor job of it.
The head should have been the first thing they buried. ~Maybe they did~. Could he have clawed his way out?
Impossible. Not with these wounds.
But then again, he ~did~ make it through.
She withdrew her hand from his chest, letting it rest in her lap. She raised her other hand, bringing the bottle to her mouth again. The fiery liquid scorched its way down to her hollow stomach.
~Right~⦠drinking on an empty stomach⦠not the smartest move. She could already sense the light-headedness and disorientation that came with a mild buzz.
A buzz she wouldnât be experiencing if she had taken the time to eat something.
How was she supposed to concentrate on anything when everyone kept steering her back to him?
Why did they give a damn? He wasnât ~their~ mate. They should have known better than to assume she would crumble and fall apart.
She studied his face, his misshapen nose, and a strange sensation numbed her fingers. She was drawn to him, irresistibly so. She moved her hand towards his face, hovering close but not touching.
~Who are you?~
A gasp escaped her when she felt a hand grasp her wrist, holding it steady and stopping her from touching his face.
She glanced to the side and saw his fingers, gently encircling her wrist. He was applying just enough pressure to halt her movement, but not enough to bruise.
~Thump~. ~Thump~.
She swallowed hard, her throat tightening, and then she dared to look back at his face. Maya was no longer looking at closed eyes. Instead, she was met with deep, chocolate-colored eyes filled with bewilderment.
~What the hellâ¦~
âWho a-are y-you?â
His voice was hoarse, as if he had been yelling.
~Damn it.~