Page 57 of Alpha Bond
“Yeah, but this…” I rub my eyes with my finger and thumb as I try to process this. My eyelids feel like they’re throbbing. “He’s putting our people in danger.” The thought leaves me mildly unhinged. I’m still trying to figure out how to deal with the pack on our borders. The threat is imminent, and it’s more pressing than handling our slipping alpha.
“We’re going to have to do something about Titer.” Casey doesn’t look happy.
“I’ll take it up with the committee. But I think we know what’s going to go down.” Sorrow tints his features. Regardless of what’s happened recently, Greyson Titer is well-loved. He’s been a good leader. Fair and rational. Until now.
Silence descends as we all try to come to terms with this. But there’s no need for more words right now. Our expressions speak volumes. Our alpha’s lost it.
Someone has to replace him.
Chapter 23
Sierra
It’s dark when I open my eyes again. For the first time in days, I feel a little like my old self. And my senses are tingling. Someone’s in the room with me.
It’s Jagger. I know his scent. His presence is as familiar to me as my own.
“How are you feeling?” The bed dips as he sinks onto it. He’s little more than a silhouette in the darkness, but I pick out his features as my eyes grow accustomed. It happens quickly now as my wolf strengthens.
“Better,” I say, and I’m not lying this time. I stretch, my muscles flexing. I stiffen when he leans forward and brushes my hair from my neck, pushing the top of my sweatshirt aside and exposing the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
“I need to change your dressing.”
“Already?” My breath catches when his fingers graze my skin. “What time is it?”
“Just after ten.” He’s peeling up the tape that’s holding the dressing in place, and it occurs to me that he can see clearly in the darkness. I can sense his wolf close to the surface, and that reassures me, too, because it means that my own must be near, connecting with him. “This is bloody.”
“Is it bad?” I don’t want to hear the answer to that. I’m praying that Doctor Bea was right when she said she got whatever was in me.
He leans forward and takes a closer look, then glances up. Through the shadows, I can just pick out the lines of his mouth curving upward. “No. It’s better…practically healed. The blood was from before. It’s almost closed up.”
My lungs deflate as air rushes from them. “Thank God.”
He stands. “I’ll be right back.”
Barely a minute later, the light flares, and I blink against it.
He’s standing at the bedside with a bag in his hands. “Doc left these while you were sleeping. I promised I’d change them as needed.”
“Okay.” It feels odd to think of them standing over me, discussing me while I slept. But when I got back to the apartment, it was all I could do to change into comfortable sweats before I’d been overwhelmed by exhaustion. My body’s way of healing itself, I guess. I won’t complain. I feel so much better.
He hasn’t moved, and I purse my lips. “Is something wrong?”
“You’ll need to…take off your shirt so I can do this.” He points to my chest. “Are you good with that?”
“Yeah…uh…sure.” I’m suddenly flustered. All I can think about is what nearly happened between us. I push the thoughts away and sit up to pull my sweatshirt over my head. The plain cotton undershirt beneath it suddenly seems woefully inadequate. He averts his eyes, which is odd since he’s about to focus on my chest to change the dressing. He’s as uncomfortable as I am.
Why? Because he regrets it?
In spite of everything, I don’t. If anything, I wish things had gone further. Maybe it’s perverse of me, but now that I’m faced with the prospect of never needing to touch him again, I feel the loss of it. Even though that need hasn’t left me just yet. Something still unfurls in my lower belly at being so close to him. Probably the remainder of whatever’s still in my bloodstream. I try not to think about it.
“Go ahead,” I tell him when the silence drags out too long. He nods and removes the last of the old dressing, slowing occasionally to look more closely. When he traces a fingertip over the ridge of scar tissue that’s beginning to form, I flinch.
“Does it hurt?” He pulls his hand back.
“No.” I can’t tell him that my reaction was to his touch more than anything. I’m definitely still under the influence of whatever that thing was doing to me. But I find that I don’t care. I’ve been with other men before, but suddenly, I want this one more than anything.
Don’t be nuts, Sierra!