He released her.
Storme stared up at him in shock as he stood next to the bed, staring down at her as though he were no more than irritated over a child's antics.
"Dr. Armani's coming up the drive now, Styx," Jonas announced, the clear amusement in his voice drawing another glare from her. "You might want to get her out of those jeans before she gets here. I'd hate for Nikki to have to suffer those quick little feet for doing a good deed."
He didn't say a word. Before Storme could fight back, he tore apart the snap and zipper of her jeans, and before she could do more than rasp out a shocked "What ...," the jeans were coming off her legs, only to come to a stop at her boots.
Gripping the hem of the denim, she fought to cover the fact that she was completely naked beneath the jeans as he gripped one foot then the other and within seconds jerked the boots from her feet.
There was no way to fight him.
Furious tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried, only to find every move she made completely ineffective against him.
He didn't speak, he didn't argue with her, and he didn't demand she undress. He simply undressed her, as though she were the child he had accused her of being and he was tired of arguing the matter.
Storme found herself jerking the blanket from the bottom of the bed to cover the nakedness of her lower body as she sat on the mattress, glaring up at him with all the ineffective fury and fear that had ever raced through her system.
"Someone needs to do something about the stink of her fear," Jonas sighed.
"Should I give her a reason to be afraid, do you think?"
"Shut up, Jonas." The muttered order drew Storme's gaze back to the irritated Wolf Breed that watched her with lush, heavily lashed eyes and a stern irritation in his gaze.
Her lips parted to throw a string of insults at him that would have withered even the worst of the filthy creatures that had been "created."
His finger came up with a sharp growl from his throat. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm joking about that paddling," he warned her. "It will happen."
As he stepped back, another, lower growl rumbled in his chest as the dark-skinned, braided doctor entered the room.
Storme stared at her silently. Dr. Nikki Armani. She was human. A child protege for the Council when she had worked for them. She had learned Breed genetics at her father's knee as a young girl and trained under the best scientists at several labs. For a brief time, she had even been in the Andes lab, several years before the Breed rescues.
"Keep her away from me." She was the enemy, just as the Breeds were, just as the Council was.
Storme's gaze slashed back to the red Wolf, the overwhelming fury that enveloped her burning through her mind. "Don't let her touch me."
"Shall I hold you down while she repairs that gash you just tore into your hip?" he snapped. "Settle your ass down or that's exactly what I'll do."
The gash?
Her gaze went to the flesh burning high on her hip, and her eyes widened. It was deep and bleeding sluggishly, while the flesh around it appeared to be bruising heavily.
It was at least four inches long and, judging by the amount of blood soaking into the sheets, deep enough to have been dangerous.
This was why she was so weak, why she couldn't fight. She was losing too much blood to maintain her strength and energy. Storme bit at her lip and felt another sob as it trembled through her chest.
"How are you going to escape, Storme, if you don't allow yourself to heal first?"
Nikki snapped, her dark brown gaze cool and at odds with the harsh sound of her voice.
"Let me go and I'll show you." She pushed between clenched teeth.
"Then it wouldn't be an escape, would it?" Nikki asked, the sarcasm in her tone raking against the anger surging through Storme. "Now, let me fix that wound, then we'll see if we can't do something to keep you from tearing it loose before it heals. Wasting my time isn't something I enjoy doing."
Storme remained still, silent. Turning to her side, she allowed the doctor access to her thigh, despite the fear shuddering through her system.
As the doctor leaned closer, Storme whispered, "They'll kill me," trying to appeal to whatever compassion or mercy might lurk beneath the appearance of competenance.
"If they were going to kill you, then you would be dead." The doctor's voice was harder now, lacking either mercy or sympathy.