Page 70 of Faith and Fury

Fractured ankle. Ruptured ear drum. Fists grazed half down to the bone.

Faith’s taking it like a trooper, of course. The way she shifts in her wheelchair, like she’s ready to leap out of it at any moment, you’d hardly even know she’s hurt.

She finally gives up on pushing herself down the hospital corridor, letting Caleb take over, so she can pick up her notepad.

TAKE ME TO AXE, she writes.

I shoot Caleb a wary look. Jaxon grits his teeth. I only caught a glimpse of the guy before Faith was discharged, but that was more than enough to note the damage she wreaked.

Correction, I chide myself, wryly, the damage Maverick wreaked.

“Not now,” Caleb answers, “he’s still in recovery.”

“So are you,” Jaxon reminds her.

Faith’s expression sours. WILL YOU KEEP HIM AT HQ?

“He’ll be detained,” I assure her. “Thanks to your ID, we’re able to send him straight to a remand facility.”

Even as the words come out, I have to avoid her gaze. I’m sure Faith knows as well as I do that a positive ID won’t be enough to get him sentenced. The only actual crime they caught this guy committing was wandering through the sewers. We can’t prove where he came from, or where he was going, or who he’s affiliated with. Not without more evidence.

“Sirena’s working on the intel,” Jaxon adds as we approach the elevator. “Obviously he’s a rogue, like you said, but that only makes him harder to pin down.”

Faith huffs. FINE. TAKE ME TO THE TUNNELS.

Jaxon presses the button to go downstairs. “Not happening, ’mega.”

Infuriated, she starts to scribble her response when Caleb intervenes—“Maverick’s already swept the area a dozen times, including the alcoves. It’s clean.”

THEN WHY WAS AXE THERE??

She makes a fair point. But then the elevator arrives, and Caleb wheels her in, and he says, “You’ve done your part. Let us handle things from here.”

Faith’s lip curls. MY PART IS TO SAVE FANG.

Gently, I put my hand on her shoulder, scenting her distress. She’s done such a great job at staying in control—if she’s finally going to break, better it be at the den. Where we can scent her, care for her, the way she deserves.

Faith’s body flattens against the wheelchair. I know she wants to say something—there’s that lingering edge to her scent—but when we get to the ground floor, Caleb stalks off, leaving the three of us by the main doors.

“Don’t worry,” Jaxon assures her, “he’s just getting the car.”

The pen trembles in Faith’s hand. HE WON’T EVEN LOOK AT ME.

My heart twists. Jaxon grips the edge of the wheelchair.

“He doesn’t want you to get hurt,” I explain, gently. “Not again.”

“Or worse,” Jaxon says.

A dark expression crosses Faith’s features. I’M NOT THE ONE STUCK IN RECOVERY.

“No-one’s denying you’re strong,” I murmur. “Or that you’re not helpful—”

“But you are hurt,” Jaxon says. “And you’re not fighting anyone, or helping anyone, until we get you better.”

Faith’s cheeks turn pink. At first I assume it’s that rage, springing up to pay us another visit, but then I see the way she averts her gaze, her lips parting ever-so-slightly.

My inner alpha preens incessantly.

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