Page 44 of Tangled in Red

Diablo pressed one last kiss to his mate’s lips before pulling away. The drive back to the tavern passed in relative silence, broken only by the low rumble of the engine and the occasional hitch in Brett’s breathing. Diablo kept their hands linked, a constant reminder that Brett was safe, that he was no longer alone.

As they pulled into the parking lot behind Sin & Steel, Brett straightened slightly in his seat, wincing as the movement pulled at sore muscles. “Smells like food,” he murmured, a hint of his old self peeking through the exhaustion. “Good food.”

Diablo chuckled. “Leave it to your stomach to perk up at the mention of grub.” He parked the truck, killing the engine. “Cesar’s probably cooking since the entire pack took off.”

“Might need to roll me outta here after I raid his kitchen,” Brett said, a weak attempt at humor, but Diablo would take it. Anything was better than the haunted silence.

“I’d carry you,” he promised, only half-joking. He released Brett’s hand just long enough to circle the truck and open the passenger door, offering his arm for support.

Brett leaned heavily against him as they made their way inside, his steps slow but determined. The scent of garlic and roasting meat grew stronger as they navigated the hallway toward the kitchen.

Cesar was indeed in the kitchen, every burner occupied by a pot or pan, the oven door open to reveal a tray of golden dinner rolls.

The wolf paused, staring at Brett. “How you holdin’ up?”

“Muy bueno.” Brett stuck up a thumb. “But starved.”

Cesar chuckled, wiping his hands on a dish towel before tossing it over his shoulder. “Sit. I’ll fix you a plate.” He gestured to the small table tucked in the corner of the kitchen.

Brett practically collapsed into one of the chairs, his exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. Diablo took the seat beside him, one hand resting possessively on Brett’s thigh beneath the table.

“Thanks, man,” Brett said as Cesar set a heaping plate in front of him. Mashed potatoes, green beans, and what looked like a perfectly seasoned steak. “Seriously, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Least I can do.” Cesar’s expression sobered slightly. “We take care of our own here.”

Something warm unfurled in Diablo’s chest at the easy acceptance, the way his pack had embraced Brett without question. His mate dug into the food with gusto, a low moan of appreciation escaping around a mouthful of potatoes, the sound shooting straight to Diablo’s groin. Down, boy. Not the time.

“Despacio, querido,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on Brett’s leg. “Don’t make yourself sick.”

Brett paused, fork halfway to his mouth. He shot Diablo a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Guess I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started eating.”

“Stress’ll do that to you,” Cesar said, leaning against the counter. “Adrenaline crash is a bitch.”

Diablo picked up his own fork, suddenly realizing how ravenous he was. The last few hours had been fueled purely by adrenaline and fear. Now that the danger had passed, his body was reminding him of its needs.

They finished their meals, Brett going back for seconds and then thirds. Diablo felt a swell of affection watching his mate enthusiastically devour the food, knowing his body needed the nourishment after the ordeal.

When Brett finally pushed his plate away with a contented sigh, Diablo pressed a kiss to his temple. “Feel better, cariño?”

“Much.” Brett stifled a yawn, exhaustion creeping into his features. “Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Diablo stood, gently tugging Brett up with him. “Let’s get you to bed, pajarito. Food’ll keep.”

Brett swayed into him, his cheek coming to rest against Diablo’s chest. “’Kay,” he mumbled, clearly fading fast.

Diablo scooped him up bridal style, Brett’s head lolling against his shoulder. He carried his mate down the hall to one of the spare rooms, shouldering the door open. He settled Brett on the edge of the mattress, kneeling to unlace his shoes.

“I can do it,” Brett protested weakly, making no actual move to assist.

“Let me take care of you, cariño.” Diablo pressed a kiss to Brett’s knee before tugging off his sneakers and socks. He stood, gently removing the shirt that bore flecks of blood.

Diablo’s jaw clenched as more bruises were revealed on Brett’s pale skin. Mottled purple and blue marred his ribs and stomach, evidence of the rough treatment he’d endured.

“Oh, pajarito,” he breathed, ghosting his fingertips over the marks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Brett mumbled, heavy-lidded eyes struggling to focus on Diablo’s face. “You saved me.”

Diablo helped him out of his jeans, leaving Brett in just his boxers. He pulled back the covers and eased his mate down onto the pillow, tucking the blankets around him.

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