I could hear him talking, but his voice was distant. He was doing a lot of cursing and barking at me to stay awake. Total déjà vu.

He got back on the bike, with me across his lap, my head against his shoulder and my legs over his arm that held the handlebars, then he hooked the other arm around my waist, holding me close.

He said something else, but I couldn’t understand this time, my mind was buzzing too loudly now, and the shadows in my head were overtaking my vision completely—then everything went dark.

When I woke, I was in my bedroom and Jagger was sitting on the bed beside me. He had a bowl of icy water and a cloth, and he was wiping my face.

“Good,” he growled out. “Now stay the fuck awake.” He wiped the cool cloth across my brow, frowning. “You got a couple of big eggs on your head, female. You should’ve fucking told me you weren’t feeling right before we got on the bike. You could’ve fallen off and fucking killed yourself.”

Why was he still here? Boo? I searched the room, then spotted him hanging from the light above, watching. He obviously didn’t see Jagger as a threat or he’d be dive-bombing him and chirping his head off. “You can go now. I don’t need a nursemaid.”

He ignored me and continued to swipe the cool cloth down the side of my face. “Not going anywhere until we sort out these wounds and I know you’re out of the woods with this concussion. Not like anyone else is here.”

He was right. Crap.

Jagger scowled again as his gaze slid over my face. “Did that fucking wolf do all of this damage?”

“Not all of it.”

“What the hell were you doing in there, Sutton?” His eyes flashed.

“Those wolves were seriously in the wrong, the way they treated you, but you were in their territory, and from the sounds of it, you broke into one of their buildings.” His movements turned stilted.

He looked agitated. “And with the way you look, when you do your thing…”

My gaze shot up to his. “The way I look? You mean like an ugly fucking demon bitch? That’s how that wolf described me. It’s how my family saw me too. How about you, Charming? Is that what you see as well?”

His chin jerked back. “No.” He snarled a little, then his hand lifted to my hair.

I flinched. And why the hell had I asked what he saw when he looked at me? I didn’t care anymore, right?

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” His big chest expanded.

“You have to know that?” His hand still hovered in the air, and he reached out again, like he was holding out his fingers for a wild dog to sniff.

I held perfectly still as he touched my hair.

“You got blood all in this pretty hair of yours,” he said, surprising me, then did that jaw-tightening thing he seemed to do a lot around me.

Was he remembering the last time he’d seen me with blood in my hair?

“We need to wash it out.” He stood abruptly.

“We don’t need to do anything. I’ll wash it later.”

He shook his head, a stubborn look on his face. “Can’t fucking look at all that blood in your hair. We’re doing it now.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already shoving the covers back and scooping me out of bed. “Put me down. We’re not doing this.”

“Yeah?” He flashed his sharp canines. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

He strode into the bathroom, turned on the shower, then shrugged off his leather cut, revealing all that defined, muscled skin decorated with tattoos.

That’s when I realized I was in only a T-shirt, one he’d obviously taken from my drawer when we got here.

“You took my clothes off,” I accused.

He shrugged. “Needed to see what the damage was.”

“You saw me naked?”

His eyes flicked down to mine. “So?”

My face flushed hot. He’d seen the scars; every single slice The Chemist had made in my flesh.

Jagger had just gotten an up-close-and-personal look at them, and if he hadn’t already stomped on my ego enough to crush me, that would have done it.

Nice to have confirmation of just how much the mate that the fates had chosen for me didn’t want me.

My naked body incited nothing more than a shrug.

Awesome. I guess, that was better than all-out revulsion.

Jagger stepped unceremoniously under the cool spray, still holding me to him. I shrieked, and he shushed me impatiently, then cradling me in his huge arms, he maneuvered me so my head was under the water.

I lay there, stunned, confused, and despite his indifference to me, aroused as he gently slid one of his large hands over my scalp, feeling for the eggs there and being super careful as he washed blood out of my hair.

A deep rumbling sound rolled from his chest, and I sucked in a breath.

The sound was one of satisfaction. I didn’t need to be a hound to recognize that.

He was utterly focused on his task, like it was the most important thing he’d done, and would ever do in his life.

My head tingled as he continued to work his thick fingers through my hair.

Finally, he switched off the water and, still holding me in his arms, stepped out of the shower, before roughly rubbing a towel over my body.

“Lift your arm. Need to get this shirt off.”

“What? No.”

“Seen it all before, Sutton. I’ll close my eyes if you’re that worried.

” Then he carefully eased my injured arm out of the wet shirt, while I complained and struggled uselessly, before whipping it over my head, and yes, his eyes were closed as he rubbed the towel across my chest and down my back, drying the rest of me.

He reached back without looking and grabbed the shirt I’d left in here that morning, then carefully pulled it over my head.

It was the shirt he’d given me several months ago, when I’d cried that he was leaving.

I hated thinking about that now. Loathed it.

I’d also been wearing it when I’d run out the next morning and thrown myself at him, when we’d kissed. No, when I’d kissed him. He’d made sure I didn’t get that part wrong, hadn’t he? I didn’t want to think about that either.

Then I was up again, ensconced in his arms, so he could carry me back to bed.

He laid me down, dragged up the covers, then disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, a towel hugged his waist, his wet jeans discarded. “You got a dryer?”

Holy hell. I mean, I’d seen him naked less than an hour ago, but I’d been more than a little distracted. His huge frame seemed to crowd my small bedroom. He was basically naked again, and utterly beautiful. I didn’t know where to look. “Ground floor, room off the kitchen.”

He strode out, down to the laundry room I assumed, then was back again a few minutes later. He went back into the bathroom, then came out carrying another dry towel.

He was headed straight for me. “What are you doing?”

Jagger climbed on the bed, the towel around his hips splitting open dangerously, not that he seemed to care—and pulled me closer so he could use the dry one to wring the water out of my hair.

He squeezed it gently, removing the excess moisture, and as he did, he made another one of those satisfied sounds. “So fucking pretty. Love this hair.”

I knew he liked it. How many times had I caught him looking at my hair? The way he’d touched it after I’d kissed him that one and only time. But why was he telling me this?

Why was he doing this to me?

He needed to leave. This was too much and, honestly, too painful.

He’d rejected me the night before in front of everyone in the clubhouse, and in a way that was cruel and careless. Now he thought he could just come here and I’d let him take care of me like we were something special to each other? We weren’t.

I thought we could be, but I’d been wrong. He couldn’t have it both ways. He couldn’t look at me like I was nothing and then tell me I had pretty hair.

He couldn’t follow me on Nightscape and spend three months asking for photos, then make it clear he wanted nothing from me until his instincts kicked in, telling him to protect his mate because that’s what had happened tonight, then expect me to just let him look after me.

No.

That’s not how this was going to work. And it wasn’t fair for him to think any of this was okay.