The Awakening Aidan - By Abby Niles Page 0,67

prowled toward her, low growls warning if she so much as moved it’d kill her.

Hope that Aidan was somewhere in that animal dwindled. Aidan and his beast were one. Without his beast, Aidan was just a human. Without Aidan, the beast was just an animal—a rabid wildcat. One that had its sights on her.

The cougar lowered, preparing to pounce. Just as it sprang up, something popped and whizzed by her cheek. A dart punctured the shoulder of the cougar. It hissed, changing directions mid-jump toward the man who had shot it. Three more pops fired. Animal or not, all she saw was Aidan snarling and trying to defend himself.

“Stop! God! Stop. Don’t hurt him anymore!” She fell to her knees, covering her mouth with her hands as the cougar staggered, then fell to its side.

Jaylin crawled forward. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Aidan. Oh, God. What have I done? I’m so sorry.”

With a trembling hand, she caressed the side of its face and wiped the moisture from her eyes with the other. He jerked, eyes watching her every move. Lips quivering on barely-there snarls.

“I love you. Please, please, come back to me.”

Chapter Twelve

One week, two days, five hours, thirty-four minutes, fifty-two seconds.

That was how much time had passed since they’d smuggled Aidan into her office in the dead of night—how long it had been with no change.

He will come back to you.

Over the last few days, Rafael’s parting words as he’d hugged her on the tarmac right before she’d climbed into the helicopter with Trevor and his men had been a source of strength in one of the darkest times in her life. But with each passing day, as she watched Aidan circle his cage, teeth bared, foam dripping from the corners of his mouth, the words she’d clung to were starting to lose their potency.

She shifted on a chair, curling her legs underneath her, staring at the prison that had become Aidan’s home. The once warm, spacious room that used to be filled with cushy seating, welcoming knickknacks, and fresh flowers now felt so cold, uninviting. Everything had been removed but one chair and a huge dog pillow for Aidan to sleep on. But that wasn’t the change she hated most.

She hated the steel bars that had been installed to cage him, hated the chalk line that had been drawn on the floor to remind her to keep her distance after a frightening incident where the cougar had swiped its massive paw out toward her. After this was all said and done, she’d never be able to walk into this room again, would most likely move her practice altogether—far away from anything that could bring back any memories.

She’d have a hard enough time forgetting without the constant reminders.

Jaylin rubbed the heel of her palm against her gritty eyes.

She was exhausted. Couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, slept, or even showered. Her hair was knotted, coffee stained the front of her white T-shirt, and purple circles darkened the skin underneath her eyes, but she couldn’t care less. All she cared about was staying with Aidan as much as Trevor would allow her, which wasn’t much in her opinion.

He’d barred her from the experiments after the first day, saying she was more of a hindrance than help. She couldn’t deny his observation. The cougar was ten times harder to deal with when she was present. Trevor didn’t have an explanation for this, but, taking pity on her she was sure, he’d said he believed the animal’s reaction was because it could sense the men’s beast, and since she didn’t have one, it viewed her as the weakest prey.

Yet the few times Pam had been in the room, the animal hadn’t tried to attack her, so the no-beast theory was nothing more than a hopeless attempt to make Jaylin feel better. Because of this, she had an uglier theory—one that made more sense than being the easiest kill. She’d abused them. Though the cougar didn’t have human intelligence like the beast did, some kind of instinctual memory made the animal remember how much she’d hurt Aidan and his beast when she’d continually denied them. And like a cornered or injured animal, it was instinctively lashing back at the person who had done it harm.

And every time it did, she felt physical pain as if it’d actually gotten its claws into her.

A light touch landed on her shoulder and she jerked her head up to find Pam standing there. An ever-present