Page 20 of Mating Mia
six
. . .
Finn
Iwatch Liam’s chest rise and fall, counting each shallow breath like it might be his last. The old wolf looks like death warmed over—skin stretched tight over bones that have forgotten what meat feels like, scars layered upon scars like a roadmap of decades of torture.
He shouldn't be alive. No one should survive what’s been done to him. Yet here he is, clinging to life with a stubbornness that makes something in my chest tighten with grudging respect.
The cabin is quiet except for the soft crackling of the fire in the other room and Liam’s raspy breathing.
I’ve done what I can for his wounds. I worked on cleaning the raw mess of his back where that whip tore into him, bandaged the worst of it, forced water and broth between his cracked lips while he was unconscious. My hands, more accustomed to ending lives than preserving them, feel clumsy with these tender ministrations.
His eyelids flutter, and I tense, watching as awareness slowly returns to him. Those pale green eyes, so much like Mia’s, open gradually, confusion giving way to sharp focus as he takes in his surroundings. When his gaze lands on me, there’s no fear, only assessment.
He’s calculating his odds, just as I would in his position.
"You’re awake," I say, keeping my voice low and neutral, not to alarm him. I reach for the cup of water I’ve kept ready, adding a straw I found in one of the kitchen drawers. "Drink. Slowly."
I hold the cup near his face, but instead of accepting my help, his hand shoots out with surprising strength, grabbing the cup. He plucks the straw out, tossing it to the floor with disdain, and brings the cup to his lips. Water dribbles down his chin as he gulps greedily, but he doesn't seem to care. When he's drained it dry, he hands the empty cup back to me, a challenge in his eyes.
I can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. This son of a bitch is strong. More than twenty years of torture, starvation, and confinement, yet he still has the spirit to reject help that makes him feel weak. I recognize that pride. Respect it.
"More?" I ask, already reaching for the pitcher.
He shakes his head, pushing himself up to a sitting position with a wince he tries to hide.
"You won't want to be taking care of an old geezer like me," he says, his voice rough from disuse. "Go to your omega. My daughter needs you."
The mention of Mia sends a spike of possessive heat through my blood. I can smell her even from here, the honey-sweet scent of her heat calling to something primal in me. But I’ve learned control over my instincts. It’s what makes me the most dangerous of Kane’s pack.
"I need to make sure you’re alive and taken care of first," I tell him, though the wolf in me is howling to go to her, to claim her, to satisfy the need I can sense building in her again.
Liam studies me, his gaunt face unreadable. "You’re the quiet one," he says finally. "The watcher. The killer."
“I’m a little quiet, yes,” I say, not bothering to deny it. I’m the type to observe people more than talk about myself. My hands have ended more lives than I care to count. Violence comes asnaturally to me as breathing. The weight of my knife against my ankle is a constant reminder of what I am.
"And now you’re playing nurse to a broken old wolf," he continues, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Quite the change of pace."
"Life is full of surprises," I reply dryly.
Liam shifts, grimacing as the movement pulls at his wounds. "How is she? My daughter."
"She’s safe," I assure him. "Heat-sick, but we’re taking care of her."
"Good." He nods, satisfied. Then, to my surprise, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, his movements stiff but determined. "I need to go."
I raise an eyebrow. "You can barely stand."
“I’ve been waiting years for this moment,” he says, eyes burning with an intensity that reminds me, again, of Mia. "I have one job now. Find Sarah. My mate. My omega."
“Your wounds?—“
"Will heal," he interrupts. “Faster once I’m shifted. A wolf’s body knows how to repair itself better than a human’s.” He fixes me with that intense stare again. “Take care of my daughter. That’s all I ask.”
The request isn’t necessary. I would die for Mia without hesitation. I’ve already killed for her, and I would do it again. But I understand his need to hear it said aloud.
“I promise you,” I tell him, the words carrying the weight of an oath. “No harm will come to her while I’m alive.”
