"Fascinating," I mutter, trying to reconcile the image of Marcus Ashby in my head to the stereotypes of alpha wolf shifters.
Logan has all the cockiness and arrogance of one, but is admittedly a little more intelligent (sotis—because there have definitely been tis I’ve questioned his IQ level, not that I’d tell him that) and charming than the ones I’ve encountered. He also has a presence I’d associate with alpha werewolves.
But Marcus?
If anything, he reminds of Scott more than Logan. Not weak, but not the strongest in the room. Not soone who could lead a company to greatness, but not the lowest on the totem pole. Then again, Marcus Ashby is a renowned lawyer with a lot of money. That definitely fits.
Strange. Very strange.
Logan’s strong hands press into my shoulders, his touch sending waves of relief through my tense muscles. Before I can finish processing the revelation about Marcus, he gently but firmly turns onto my stomach.
"Much better angle for this." His fingers work their way down my spine. "Though these damn caras make everything complicated."
A grunt of frustration escapes him as he hits a particularly stubborn knot near my shoulder blade. The bed shifts as he adjusts his position.
"What’s wrong with the caras?" My voice cos out muffled against the pillow.
His hands pause briefly. "They’re everywhere. Always watching. Makes certain... activities difficult to pursue."
The strain in his voice clicks everything into place. I bite back a smile as I realize exactly what kind of ’difficulty’ he’s experiencing. Here I am, enjoying a purely therapeutic massage while he’s fighting an entirely different battle.
Maybe I should be more worried and afraid and moping over my questions, but Logan’s predicant shifts my mood entirely.
A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. "Having problems there, your highness?"
"This isn’t funny." His fingers dig deeper into my muscles, though not enough to hurt. "You have no idea what you do to ."
"I think I’m getting the picture." Another giggle escapes .
"Right. Speaking of pictures—" Logan clears his throat, his hands stilling on my back. "Penelope’s been trying to reach ."
The abrupt subject change only makes laugh harder. "Smooth transition there, very smooth."
"I’m serious." But there’s a hint of amusent in his voice now, too. "She’s called three tis in the last hour."
My amusent fades a little. "Have you talked to her?"
"A little. I did tell her you’re safe. She’s been understandably worried and more than a little pissed off at the lack of information."
Yep, sounds like Pippa.
"She told to tell you the Anti-Turn is working." His massage slows down as he grunts. "Damn. I’m going to have to stop, or we’re going to give soone a show."
That idea should horrify a lot more, but my body has other ideas. I clamp my thighs shut imdiately, mortified at the dampness gathering there. What has this man done to ? Hopefully he doesn’t sll it.
"I’m glad it’s working." My voice is hoarse, and this ti not from any injury.
A deep groan rumbles from Logan’s chest. "Fuck, Nicole. It’s your turn to stop oozing those pheromones all over the place."
Damn. He definitely can sll it.
"I don’t ooze anything." Heat floods my cheeks at the accusation.
His hands slide down to grip my thighs, fingers pressing into sensitive flesh. "Sure about that?"
I kick out playfully, catching him in the side. "Get off , you brute."
Logan rises from the bed with deliberate slowness, making an exaggerated show of adjusting the obvious bulge in his pants. He doesn’t give a shit about the caras. Or the viewers. Too bad I do.
My mouth goes dry as I watch the movent of his hands, unable to tear my gaze away from the display.
He saunters over to the chair Marcus vacated earlier, dropping into it with casual grace. His legs spread wide, drawing my attention exactly where he wants it. A knowing smirk plays across his lips.
"My eyes are up here, sweetheart."
Damn him and his cocky arrogance. And how he can turn absolutely any mont sexual.
I should have a libido in negative range after being kidnapped and then semi-kidnapped by his little Conclave faction, or whatever they are. But sohow I’m (very briefly, okay?) entertaining the idea of climbing onto his lap and riding him like a sex-crazed cowgirl, caras be damned.
Pheromones are wild.
"Stop secreting," I accuse him, realizing the room is filled with his pheromones.
"Only if you stop first."
Ignoring his flirting, even though there’s a vague suspicion in my mind that he’s doing it on purpose—because who would flirt like that in this situation?—I drag my brain out of the gutter to focus on what’s important. "Is she okay?"
"Who?"
My eye twitches. "Penelope."
"Oh. Yes. Angry and wanting to cut my heart out for not sending her proof you’re alive, but yes."
Also sounds like Pippa.
"When do you think I’m going to see her?"
My voice cracks a little at the question; I’ve been desperately avoiding thoughts of getting out of here, because I don’t want to be disappointed when I learn that I can’t.
I also don’t want to be angry with Logan for rescuing straight into a situation where I’m so sort of prisoner again.
He hesitates, and my heart drops.
"I’m not sure. They’re worried about your..." He waves vaguely in my direction. "Stability."
"My magic. They don’t want to explode again."
"Yes."
Understandable. I don’t want to kill people, either. But I’d like to feel a little more like I have a choice in being here. "The people that died—"
"Not your fault," he interrupts firmly. All humor is gone from his face, his eyes intent on mine. "You have to understand that, Nicole. None of it was your fault. It was just a terrible accident."
Accident or not, it’s still my fault. It’s because of and my magic. But my lips quirk a little at his absolute insistence on feeling no guilt whatsoever. The man’s trying to protect , even from myself. "I just wanted to know if there was a way I could contact their families sohow."
He shakes his head imdiately. "No."
I’m not sure how much of that is a lie for my own benefit and how much is true, but considering how strange and secretive this organization is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s telling the absolute truth.
Changing the subject again, I just ask, "Do I still have a job?"
How long have I been gone? Has it only been a few days? It kind of feels like a month.
Logan hesitates again, and I stiffen. This isn’t so sort of question with a trick answer, which ans...
My mind races. "Logan, are they never going to let go ho?"
"They will, but..." He rubs his hands over his face with a soft curse. "Honestly, Nicole, things are still up in the air. But I wouldn’t expect to be able to go ho and back to your life like normal. There’s a very good chance you’re going to be enrolled into Thornhaven Academy. Otherwise they would never have brought Dr. Blackthorn here."
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