Chapter 187. Altered
Maisie
Sometime past midnight, I stirred to the heavy weight of an arm slung across my waist and a warm chest pressed against my back. Jericho’s scent wrapped around me and I let out a sleepy sigh, pushing back into him. He was rock hard against my ass and I felt heat stir in the pit of my stomach.
But his deep voice rumbled against my ear, "Sleep, malyshka."
My lashes felt too heavy to keep open anyway.
I had barely dozed before another body slid in against my front, trapping me completely between two very solid, very warm Lycans. Mercer’s arm slid under my neck, his face burying itself in the crook of my shoulder, providing me with more real estate of delicious scents to pull me under. Being mad at them didn’t seem to stop my body from melting into the arrangement.
I drifted off again without meaning to.
When I woke up again, sunlight was filtering through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the massive bed. Mercer’s groan vibrated against my chest as I tried to shift. He only tightened his hold, nuzzling deeper like a giant cat refusing to be moved.
Behind me, Jericho’s breathing was still deep and even, his arm a heavy, possessive band across my stomach. And then there was the silky head currently tucked under my shirt, pressed right against my bare stomach. I glanced down, bewildered, and found a tousle of golden locks peeking out.
I couldn’t help the smile that teased the corners of my mouth.
My eyes drifted across the room until I found the last one.
Soren stood by the window, shirtless, one hand holding a mug of coffee while the other held his phone to his ear. The morning light caught on the sharp lines of his back and shoulders rippling with muscles, turning his skin gold. He looked unfairly good for someone who had probably been awake for hours.
"Tonight," he said quietly into the phone. "We’ll be there. She will, too."
I might have stayed content just watching him if my bladder wasn’t one second away from exploding.
I tried to sit up.
The second I moved, three different sets of arms tightened and Mercer made a low, displeased sound against my neck. Jericho’s arm locked around my waist like a steel band. And Quinlan’s voice sent vibrations through my stomach and down my spine. "No," he mumbled. "Stay."
"I have to pee," I whispered, trying not to laugh.
"Five more minutes," Mercer said in the same second Quinlan muttered, "Hold it in."
"Not unless you want me to piss on you, no thank you," I answered, expecting that it would be enough to get them off me, but Quinlan replied half a second later, "Like in my mouth?"
I couldn’t keep the disgust off my face and kicked him off playfully. "There is something seriously wrong with you."
I managed to crawl out from under Quinlan, who dramatically flopped onto his back like I’d wounded him, and nearly tripped over Jericho as I stumbled toward the bathroom. Behind me, I heard Quinlan mumble something about "abandonment issues" while Mercer told him to shut up.
After attending my business, I started to walk back to the bedroom, when my eyes caught sight of something in the mirror. I took three steps back, halting in front of the mirror. I frowned, leaning forward, brushing my hair over my shoulder.
There were bruises on my neck. Fingerprints. I knew how they’d gotten there. From Bastian nearly crushing my bones, and that wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that the bruises were still there, when they should’ve healed hours ago.
I cocked my head at the mirror, mind whirling as I pieced together the last couple of weeks and the symptoms I’d been having, trying to make sense of it all. Feeling pregnant aside, that feeling of heaviness I had attributed to being stuck in a silver cage yesterday was still present. Not as unbearable as it had been behind that shelf but enough to feel. Like I was moving against gravity.
I still couldn’t communicate with my Lycan. I could feel her, but going from a strong presence that used to fight for the position of driver in my own body to being dormant enough that I almost felt ordinary was concerning.
Nostrils flaring, I clenched my fist so hard, the color drained from my hand, and I slammed it into mirror in front of me, shattering it to pieces. The Lycans were instantly there and it felt like I was watching from a different body as they fretted, asking what the hell I was doing. Jericho thought if I needed a punching bag, there were more than enough bodies in the house to turn into one.
I might’ve laughed at his paranoia and told him I was fine, but I didn’t think I was.
I stared at the wound and the glass sticking out of my fist as Soren led me back into the bedroom, settling me down on the couch. It wasn’t healing. It wasn’t slow. Neither was the blood clotting. Not even after Soren pulling out the glass did it stop bleeding. Not even when I’d been an Omega in the Night Shade pack did I ever experience something like this.
Like my biology had been altered. Halted.
"I’ll go grab the first aid kit..." Soren was saying. Then he tracked off. The room fell silent. Because the only time any one needed a first aid kit around here was when ash and silver got involved.
Soren gripped my shoulders, violet eyes going stormy. "We had the kitchen staff sent away because I didn’t trust anyone with you. So how... Did Bastian do something to you yesterday?
I frowned. "Like what? Make me an apple pie with a filling of ash?" I was suddenly irritated all over again, remembering yesterday’s encounter. "Maybe ask him, since you’re all buddy-buddy right now."
Soren blinked, but before he could speak, Jericho stormed forward, yanking my wrist out of Soren’s, and he licked the blood running off my fingertips. And I knew before he spoke what the answer would be, considering if there was something wrong, they would have detected it in the last several days of sex and love bites. "Her blood is clean. What the fuck is happening?"
"I’ll send for Memah," Mercer said. "In the meantime, walk us through everything you did yesterday."