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“Austin . . . ”

“Mhm?” he replies, engrossed in his book.

I swallow hard. “We should talk about what we’re doing here.”

“Well, Helena is about to get ravaged by a wolf that’s been stalking her...I can only imagine he’s going to shift back into human form and turn into Lance, the guy she’s been crushing on. There will be some form of trivial argumentabout deception, invasion of privacy, blah blah blah, and then we’ll get to the good stuff.”

Not quite where I thought this was going to go. But he’d been rushing through our yoga today so he could get back to reading.

“That being . . .”

“Oh, I forgot you’ve never had good sex, Killer.” He winks. “But pay attention to these books. I've even learned a thing or two.”

“Like how to shift into a wolf?”

“The big, bad wolf, baby.” He winks again, and my heart somersaults.

Yep, he’s definitely flirting. And his admission of learning something from the books he’s been reading is surprising. I’ve never met a man who admits to having something to learn, especially not from what they find to be asillyromance novel. That’s what Travis used to call them. Unrealistic standards for men, set by women. But I can’t understand how someone being devoted to their partner and making their body sing from orgasms is unrealistic—or unreasonable. The wolf shifter bit, I can understand.

I bite my lip, my heart thudding like theJawstheme tune, steady at first and then altogether speeding into ominous territory where I’m likely to get eaten. It’s a wonder he can’t hear it.

Maybe he can because he suddenly looks up.

“What’s going on, Olivia?” he asks, turning his book over onto the mattress and giving me his full attention.

God, I love it when he uses my name. It’s always soft and understanding; it tells me he’s ready to listen. He calls me Killer when he’s flirting or playful, which makes my lower belly surge with heat. ButOliviais something special. He enunciates all four syllables like he’s tasting them.

“I . . . I think we need to discuss the future. You can’t stay here indefinitely and . . .”

“What day is it? I’ve lost track,” he interrupts.

“Umm . . . it’s Wednesday now.”

“I’ve been here since Friday. Five days total.” He lifts his head and counts using his fingers. It’s oddly endearing.

“Yes.”

“I’m free for two more days.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

“Austin. I don’t think you understand. I’m talking about letting you go...now.” I let a big breath out. I’m actually going to let him go. I think I’m going to miss him. Christ, what is wrong with me? I thought Stockholm syndrome was the other way around.

“And I have until Friday. So think about it. I’m in no rush.”

He’s gone mad. I might need to drop him off at the hospital.

“Austin...I think maybe you’ve got this thing. I read up on it. It’s called Stockholm syndrome. You kind of end up liking your captor. It’s actually super unhealthy, and you should really go and talk to someone about that when you get out.”

His face transforms, his smile stretching like it’s being pulled by his ears. His grin turns to laughter; his laughter turns to silent gasps of him clutching his stomach.

This is it. He’s a goner.

I can’t be responsible for him.

I can deal with my brother’s psycho boss. I can’t deal with a genuinely unwell person. Especially when I’ve chained him up in my basement for nearly a week, and now he’s lost it.

He rights himself, swiping at a glisten of tears in the corner of his eyes.