Page 6 of Honey Heat
“Where—” Ethan managed before coughing.
“Dr. Martinez’s clinic. We found you at a warehouse.” The man leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Do you remember talking to me earlier?
Memories flooded back. Rough hands dragging him from his truck, the cold metal table against his back, questions about his father shouted into his face between blows. The hooks. God, the hooks they’d suspended him from, chains biting into his wrists, his feet nowhere near the ground.
“I don’t remember talking to you,” Ethan lied, watching Lucio’s reaction carefully. Trust wasn’t something he could afford right now.
Lucio’s expression remained neutral, but something in his eyes suggested he didn’t believe the denial. “You were pretty out of it. Mentioned something about Boone and a warning.”
Playing dumb seemed the safest option. Those men had made it clear what would happen if he talked. “I don’t remember much of anything,” Ethan glanced away. “Everything’s foggy.”
“That’s normal. You’ve been through a lot.”
An understatement if Ethan had ever heard one. His entire body felt like one massive bruise. Flashes of memory continued assaulting him. Needles pushing into his arms as they mocked him, to draw blood, again and again. Later, different injections to keep him compliant. To make him float while they hurt him.
The drug also loosened his tongue, making him babble nonsense while they recorded everything.
Men in lab coats circling him like vultures. Questions about his father, about clan territory, about shifting abilities. Fists connecting with his ribs when he refused to answer.
The IV in his arm suddenly felt like another invasion.
Another needle.
Another drug.
Without thinking, Ethan yanked it out, ignoring the sharp pain and beads of blood that followed.
“Whoa.” Lucio stood up quickly. “That’s helping you, not hurting you.”
“I need to go,” Ethan muttered, swinging his legs off the bed. Pain shot through his ribs and stole his breath, making the room tilt dangerously. When he tried to stand, his legs buckled immediately. Only Lucio’s quick reflexes kept him from hitting the floor.
It was the same reaction he’d had when those bastards had drugged him.
“Really bad idea, cariño. Your body needs time to heal.” Lucio guided him back onto the bed with surprisingly gentle hands. “Not to mention all those fancy stitches Dr. Martinez just put in. You tear those open, he’ll have my ass.”
“It’s not safe here.” The words tumbled out before Ethan could stop them. “They’ll find me.”
“No one’s getting anywhere near you, osito,” Lucio assured him, easing him back against the pillows. “Those bastards would have to go through a lot of angry wolves to reach you.”
Against all logic, Ethan believed him. Something about the wolf calmed the panic building in Ethan’s chest. Maybe it was the steady way he spoke or how his presence seemed to fill the room with quiet strength.
Whatever it was, Ethan found himself relaxing slightly, though he remained wary.
“Why are you helping me?” he asked, voice still raspy.
Lucio adjusted the blanket over Ethan’s legs. “Because it’s what we do. We protect our own.”
“I’m not one of yours,” Ethan pointed out. “I’m a bear.”
“Does it matter?” Lucio sat back down, watching him with curious eyes. “Want to tell me who did this to you?”
Ethan pressed his lips together, staring at the ceiling. Talking meant remembering, and remembering meant feeling it all again—the helplessness, the pain, the fear that they would go after his father next.
And their threat.
“Not particularly.”
“Fair enough.”
