Page 9 of Malcolm
He wondered how she’d even figured out his address.
Werewolves’ had kept to their reservations ever since their first clash with the council. Those aged dogs enjoyed the snakeskin they lived in. He hadn’t been lying to Castian, he’d been thinking over it for a while whether he should return to see his people since that day.
Still, she was his sister; she’d protected him when he’d been a pup, a pup who’d acted too big for his short pants. The number of times she’d kept his head on his shoulders was numerous, but the last time he’d helped her, she’d burned him along with his people.
“What are you thinking about?” A soft voice called to him from the door; he turned around and groaned. The hunted look in her eyes was gone; she looked at him as if she could seeinside his soul. Eliza had finished washing up, and her hair was now twisted and piled atop her head in a bun. Her skin glowed slightly, and he could scent that the smell of flowers had been reduced. She lifted a hand and pointed at the surgical scar around her wrist. “You didn’t mention this.”
He frowned. “I assumed you knew of it, as well as the tattoos.”
The corners of her lips kicked up, and she dropped her hand down and crossed her arms, pursed her lips. “I haven’t gotten your name, and I can’t keep calling you ‘you’ just to avoid the awkwardness.”
Malcolm was fascinated with every move his mate made. She tended to shift and twitch like a cat. Everything about how she breathed in and breathed out filled his mind. “Malcolm, Malcolm McLaren.”
“Ooh, Scottish? Irish?” she asked, walking over to the trey, her shirt stuck to her wet skin. He could see the shape of the underwear he’d picked up; he’d forgotten to get her a bra but the sizes had been beyond him. She snatched up the bread from the tray and lifted it to her lips, her teeth tore into it. He watched her lashes flutter as she released a low moan of pleasure.
“My ancestors were, but you could say I’m as Scottish as you are," he joked. The truth was that his people had moved from Scotland to the States many years ago. Seeking freedom, they’d come to the new world. The Council had offered them a space within their walls once the Unseelie had been defeated. So, some were still tied tightly to their traditions, while others sought out newer ways of living.
He’d been a traditionalist and had eagerly done what he needed to follow his father’s words. Then his sister had been taken and bitten by an alpha. He turned his mind away from his thoughts of the past.
“Well, I’m not Scottish, at least not that I know of,” she joked. Finishing the thick piece of bread, she picked up the bowl. Lifting it, she gave it a sniff before she hummed with pleasure. “Good choice. I’m not sure how much I could actually eat,” she said.
“Your name?” Malcolm asked, moving over to the bed.
Malcolm wanted to be closer to her. The natural urge to reach out and touch her was burning him up inside, but he had to be patient. She was acting strong now, but he knew it would fall apart soon, if the slight trembling she tried to hide was anything to go by.
Seeing herself in the mirror had affected her far more than he’d thought it would. However, he couldn’t see her as anything other than beautiful. “I, too, want to avoid the awkwardness of not saying your name.”
She lifted the bowl to her lips and drank the broth. Hearing his words, she lowered the bowl and turned her head towards him. “It’s Eliza. Apparently, my birth mother liked ‘Elizabeth’ but wanted something cuter.”
“Eliza,” he repeated, tasting it on his tongue. He had her name, and it was now carved inside of him, on his soul. He wasn’t going to lose it, ever. He grabbed the spoon and held it out to her. “This will make getting the bits in there easier.”
She blinked before she sheepishly took the spoon from him. “Sorry. Old habits die hard.” They both winced as they both realized why she’d have the habit of drinking from the bowl rather than using the cutlery.
“So, what do you intend to do with me?” she asked, obviously in an effort to change the subject.
He thought over his next words, Malcolm was still on edge as he could still sense the magic that thrummed inside her. Ever since the attack on Castian, he’d been tense for the other one to appear, but she hadn’t moved to attack him so far. The personfrom then seemed completely different from the woman sitting in front of him now.
“I only have two choices; one is to return you to the lab and let?—”
“No.”
She reached out and grabbed his hand, her eyes narrowed. “I will never go back. Never.” She nearly growled, and the hand that gripped him trembled. The intensity in her eyes told him she wouldn’t. “I will never return to that place, ever again.”
He patiently placed his free hand atop hers. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to the people who captured you. I’m talking about the people who saved those like you. They are investigating as we speak, and those like you, who were held in tanks, are being gathered so that they can be awoken safely.”
She squinted her eyes, looking at him with suspicion. Before she shook her head, she said, “I don’t want to go anywhere like that place again; I am here and awake. I don’t need to see your people.”
“Eliza, then that leaves me only one choice,” he said, his voice heavy. He wanted to give her options, but he also wanted to take her with him and burrow away. The coward inside himself didn’t want to fight his brothers over her, but the ruthless male he’d come to be was ready to do what was needed to keep his mate near him. “Then I will have to take you away from here, or they will hunt you down.”
“Why can’t I just go back home?” she demanded, jerking her hands from his. “Why can’t I just go back to my life?”
“Because, darling, you’re a well-made weapon. Tiller and the Council would do anything to get you back.”
Malcolm didn’t flinch at the sudden appearance of the warlock; he was used to Castian’s eccentric behavior. The warlock had become wilder with his mating with Oye, though he didn’t seem to act this way around her.
Eliza pulled her chin up, her eyes narrowing on him. “You’re the one who told him to return me.”
Castian scoffed, holding his cane behind his back. His blue eyes narrowed, “I was, but if we’re going to start with accusations as greetings. You attacked me, and I was merely speaking with our dear Malcolm here.”