Without releasing his hold, he stepped into the shower and brought me up against him. He tucked his head against my neck and inhaled, wrapping his arms around me, not showing any concern for his soaked clothes.
Relaxing into the hardness of Wick, I released the breath caught in my throat. “How long have I been gone?”
His fingers dug into my skin. “Two days.” His tone quiet, but rough, sounded like his normal husky voice had been kicked in the ribs a couple times.
“So I have one day left?” I wiggled in his grasp, but Wick’s arms tightened, crushing me. I couldn’t move. Something uncomfortable bubbled up into my throat. Wick posed no threat, but it didn’t stop my body from tensing and my heart rate from picking up at the perceived captivity.
Wick’s muscles tightened and then relaxed, quickly, like he’d smelled my fear. He kept his arms around me, but loose enough that I could push them away if I decided to bolt. He ran his hand down my hair and back. “Shhhh,” he breathed into my ear before he nuzzled my neck. “Let me hold you.”
Breathing in Wick’s rosemary and sugar scent, my body softened under his calming caresses. This couldn’t go on forever. Wick would want answers and his wolf would need them. The unpleasantly sharp and pungent smell of his turmoil broiled in the heat of the hot shower water. It cost him to give me this—the time to calm down, to heal.
His back muscles felt smooth under my hands. When did I slip my hands under his shirt? I ran them up and down, enjoying the slick feel of his skin while trying to reciprocate some of the therapeutic calm. He needed to ask and I just told him without words that he could.
“Tell me.” His command was gruff against my cheek. He clutched my hair with one hand and my side with another, a little harder than I think he meant to, because after a few seconds, his grip softened again.
“I will,” I promised. “But let me… Let me get clothes on.”
Wick stiffened. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“You’ll have to beat me to it.” I pulled back, giving Wick time to let me go. He did, but he wasn’t happy about it. I got out of the shower and toweled off while Wick discarded his wet clothes. How did Wick know about Mark? I’d washed his scent off me.
Wick approached from behind and wrapped me in a thick warm bathrobe. The kind found in an expensive spa. I had one once—stole it from a swanky hotel I stayed at during my SRD training. Wick didn’t strike me as the five-finger discount type, so he probably paid full price for this one.
As he tied the robe up for me, Wick dipped his head into the crook of my neck again. His wolf so close, I smelled it mingling with his barely contained rage. I reached back and ran my hands over his head. Maybe it would soothe Wick. Maybe it would soothe his wolf.
And then again, maybe not.
I opened the door to the bedroom and stared in disbelief at the room I left not long ago. The bed frame thrown up against the wall and what remained of the mattress and sheets strewn across the room in shreds, told me either a tornado blasted through the room, or Wick had unleashed his fury on the inanimate objects.
I turned slowly in Wick’s arms. His eyebrows pinched together and his lips compressed. Burnt cinnamon sparked up around us.
“His scent was all over the bed,” Wick whispered. It cost him to say it. His eyes flashed yellow and he shivered, holding back the shift. His wolf wanted out. “I want to hunt him down and rip him apart.”
I splayed my hand against his chest and stared at my fingers, pale and small against his body. “He barely touched me.”
“One touch too many.”
“Agreed. But there wasn’t much of his scent on me.”
“Is that why you were in the shower for an hour?
An hour? I spent more time in there than I thought. “It was more psychological than physical cleansing.”
Wick grunted.
“You waited an hour?” That showed a lot of restraint. His wolf would’ve wanted confirmation and Werewolves weren’t known for their patience.
Wick nodded. “I tried to wait until you came out, because I thought you might want the space.”
“Thank you. I know it was difficult to wait.”
Wick nodded.
“Is that when you tore up the room?”
Wick nodded again.
I stared transfixed at my fingers pressed against his chest. Wick ran his hands down my back. His chin rested on the top of my head.
“Tell me,” Wick asked again. He didn’t lift his head, so his voice vibrated down the length of my body. It felt nice.
I bit my lip. “Can you put some clothes on first?”
Wick stepped back and went straight for the dresser. Pulling on sweatpants in one swift motion, he stalked back to me, stepped in close and invaded my personal space. He considered my face for a few minutes, and then, as if coming to some unspoken decision, reached down and picked me up.