This Dark Wolf (Soul Bitten Shifter #1) - Everly Frost Page 0,36

leaves Jace’s shoulders. “That’s good.”

Helen sighs and takes a step toward him, dripping water from the ice pack across the floor as she reaches for him. “Jace—”

“Don’t start, Helen.” He growls into the silence, half-turning to stop her in her tracks with a firm warning glance. “Ella doesn’t need to see me. I’m the last person who can help her.”

When the door closes, Helen exclaims, “Damn shifter! He’s even more stubborn than Tristan.”

She quickly refocuses on me. “I’m going to give you something to help you sleep now, Tessa. Rest is the best thing for your body to heal.”

Helen injects a substance into the cannula and I sink into a deep sleep, determined to wake up stronger.

Chapter Nine

A crash registers in my hearing.

It’s close but sounds far away, the bang playing havoc with my senses. I can’t open my eyes no matter how hard I fight the pull of sleep. Whatever muscle-relaxing drugs Helen gave me to make me rest, they’re powerful, practically paralytic, trying to drag me back into oblivion.

Growls, low and deep, vibrate across the air, holding me in the present. I don’t know what time it is or how long I was out of it. It could be hours or days, for all I know.

I recognize Tristan’s scent as it washes into my body with every inhale I take. There are so many layers to it that I nearly drown in them. Bitter orange, nutmeg, cedar… and beneath them is an elusive note that I can’t identify but reminds me of fire. Inhaling his scent is like running through the forest toward a blazing campfire. It surprises me that I can smell it. I haven’t been able to scent anyone since I arrived, but his wolf’s energy is at its peak, agitated like a moth batting at a lightbulb. His power buzzes in my senses, sharp and prickly, undeniable as he approaches.

His footfalls are quieter than whispers, barely perceptible, but my instincts are working at a thousand percent, suddenly able to sense everything about him. He stops right beside me. Far too close when I’m vulnerable like this, unable to open my eyes or move.

The air shifts across my face. His breathing is harsh in my hearing. The hitch at the start of every inhale cracks loudly in my ears. I picture the angry line of his mouth, the clench of his jaw, the rapid cast of his gaze across me.

The table’s soft surface shifts on either side of my face.

“Wake up,” he orders me, as if I can obey him. “Wake up, Tessa.”

His voice comes from just above my face. He must be leaning over me, probably having planted one hand on either side of my head.

His breath catches again. Held this time.

One of his hands suddenly lifts, his palm pressing against my chest above my left breast, resting lightly there as I continue to breathe. The heat from his fingers burns through my clothing to my skin. Instead of pressing down like he would if he were trying to hurt or restrain me, his palm rises and falls in time with my breathing.

His soft exhalation reaches me—a sound of… relief?

I try hard to picture him resting his palm across my chest, letting his hand rise and fall as he leans over me. There are any number of reasons why he might do that, but one possibility in particular surprises me.

Is he checking that I’m still breathing?

I hear another crack. I recognize the sound this time—it’s nothing more than the door opening—such a harmless sound that’s heightened in my drugged senses.

It’s followed by soft footfalls. Helen’s comforting perfume fills the room, but it barely blocks the intensity of Tristan’s presence.

“Tristan.” Helen’s voice is low and calm. She sounds cautious, deliberately controlled. “You said you wouldn’t come back until Tessa is ready.”

Tristan’s hand remains pressed on my chest above my heart. “Jace said she isn’t healing.”

The caution in Helen’s voice increases. “You came to check on her?”

Tristan’s tone hardens, the same edge I heard in it yesterday, dismissing any possibility that he was worried about me. “I need her healed and ready. You should have told me about the delay.”

Helen’s voice also hardens. “It’s only been two days, Tristan. She’s slept for the last thirty-six hours. We haven’t started working on her control yet.”

“I can tell,” he snaps, his exhalation sharp. Maybe he’s trying to expel my scent from his body as hard as I wish I could expel the way his wolf’s power curls around my