Page 3 of Honey Heat (Sin & Steel #9)

Awareness returned in fragments, like puzzle pieces scattered across Ethan’s consciousness.

A steady beeping sound pulsed nearby, matching the throbbing in his head.

The scent was wrong. Instead of rust and mildew, Ethan smelled antiseptic, like the inside of a hospital. And was that coffee mixed with it?

Where am I?

His eyelids felt glued together, too heavy to lift, requiring actual effort to pry them open. Blinking slowly, he tried to focus on the blurry shapes surrounding him, but nothing would stay still.

Gradually, the room came into focus. White ceiling. Gray walls. Fuzzy outlines of medical equipment. Nothing made sense.

When he tried to move, pain shot through his ribs, forcing a gasp from his dry lips. He blinked several times, willing the room to stop spinning.

“Take it easy,” a deep voice said from somewhere to his right.

Ethan turned his head, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. A handsome face swam into his field of vision. Broad shoulders, dark hair, and eyes that were watching him intently. Not one of them. Not one of the men who’d hurt him.

“Welcome back,” the stranger said, his voice carrying a slight accent. The guy had bags under his dark eyes, appearing… hung over? Ethan had seen that look in many clan members, barely awake but functioning.

Ethan tried to speak, but his throat felt like sandpaper. A weak croak emerged instead of words.

“Take it easy,” the man repeated, leaning forward. “I’m Lucio Alcaraz. We spoke briefly before you passed out again.”

“Where—” Ethan managed before coughing.

“Dr. Martinez’s clinic. We found you at a warehouse.” The man leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Do you remember talking to me earlier?

Memories flooded back. Rough hands dragging him from his truck, the cold metal table against his back, questions about his father shouted into his face between blows. The hooks. God, the hooks they’d suspended him from, chains biting into his wrists, his feet nowhere near the ground.

“I don’t remember talking to you,” Ethan lied, watching Lucio’s reaction carefully. Trust wasn’t something he could afford right now.

Lucio’s expression remained neutral, but something in his eyes suggested he didn’t believe the denial. “You were pretty out of it. Mentioned something about Boone and a warning.”

Playing dumb seemed the safest option. Those men had made it clear what would happen if he talked. “I don’t remember much of anything,” Ethan glanced away. “Everything’s foggy.”

“That’s normal. You’ve been through a lot.”

An understatement if Ethan had ever heard one.

His entire body felt like one massive bruise.

Flashes of memory continued assaulting him.

Needles pushing into his arms as they mocked him, to draw blood, again and again.

Later, different injections to keep him compliant. To make him float while they hurt him.

The drug also loosened his tongue, making him babble nonsense while they recorded everything.

Men in lab coats circling him like vultures. Questions about his father, about clan territory, about shifting abilities. Fists connecting with his ribs when he refused to answer.

The IV in his arm suddenly felt like another invasion.

Another needle.

Another drug.

Without thinking, Ethan yanked it out, ignoring the sharp pain and beads of blood that followed.

“Whoa.” Lucio stood up quickly. “That’s helping you, not hurting you.”

“I need to go,” Ethan muttered, swinging his legs off the bed. Pain shot through his ribs and stole his breath, making the room tilt dangerously. When he tried to stand, his legs buckled immediately. Only Lucio’s quick reflexes kept him from hitting the floor.

It was the same reaction he’d had when those bastards had drugged him.

“Really bad idea, carino . Your body needs time to heal.” Lucio guided him back onto the bed with surprisingly gentle hands. “Not to mention all those fancy stitches Dr. Martinez just put in. You tear those open, he’ll have my ass.”

“It’s not safe here.” The words tumbled out before Ethan could stop them. “They’ll find me.”

“No one’s getting anywhere near you, osito ,” Lucio assured him, easing him back against the pillows. “Those bastards would have to go through a lot of angry wolves to reach you.”

Against all logic, Ethan believed him. Something about the wolf calmed the panic building in Ethan’s chest. Maybe it was the steady way he spoke or how his presence seemed to fill the room with quiet strength.

Whatever it was, Ethan found himself relaxing slightly, though he remained wary.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked, voice still raspy.

Lucio adjusted the blanket over Ethan’s legs. “Because it’s what we do. We protect our own.”

“I’m not one of yours,” Ethan pointed out. “I’m a bear.”

“Does it matter?” Lucio sat back down, watching him with curious eyes. “Want to tell me who did this to you?”

Ethan pressed his lips together, staring at the ceiling. Talking meant remembering, and remembering meant feeling it all again—the helplessness, the pain, the fear that they would go after his father next.

And their threat.

“Not particularly.”

“Fair enough.”

Lucio didn’t push, which surprised Ethan. Most wolves were all dominance and demands.

Minutes stretched between them in silence, broken only by the steady beep of monitors.

“How long was I out?”

“About six hours since we found you.” Lucio sat back in his chair like he’d appointed himself Ethan’s quiet guardian.

Six hours. Ethan closed his eyes, fighting back unexpected tears. His throat felt like sandpaper, and his mouth was bone-dry.

“Thirsty,” he admitted reluctantly.

Without hesitation, Lucio stood and filled a plastic cup from a pitcher beside the bed. Instead of simply handing it over, he helped Ethan sit up slightly, supporting his back with one arm while holding the cup to his lips.

“Small sips,” Lucio cautioned. “Slow down. Too much at once will make you sick.”

The water tasted better than anything Ethan could remember, cool and clean against his parched throat, and it was a blessed relief after days of deprivation. He wanted to gulp it all, but Lucio controlled the pace, pulling it away between sips.

Setting the cup aside, Lucio eased him back down. The simple act of drinking had drained what little energy Ethan had. His gaze drifted around the room before returning to Lucio.

“Why is a wolf sitting at my bedside anyway?” Ethan asked, curiosity finally overriding caution. “Where’s my dad? Does he even know I’m here?”

“Who’s your father, osito ?” Lucio asked.

“Boone McCade.”

Worry gnawed at Ethan’s insides. His father would be out of his mind with concern. Boone had always been protective, sometimes overbearingly so, but right now, Ethan desperately wanted that protection. His dad would never let any of the clan suffer alone, especially not his own son.

Lucio stared at him, as if he hadn’t expected the answer, then cursed under his breath. “He’s in town meeting with my alpha, Matias Salvador. They’re trying to figure out the identity of the man on a still photo. And I’m here because I was the one who found you.”

“Can I borrow your phone? Please?” Ethan needed to hear his dad’s voice, needed to reassure him that he was safe and alive.

Without hesitation, Lucio pulled a sleek black smartphone from his pocket and unlocked it before he handed it over. Ethan shook his head, momentarily thrown by the wolf’s easy trust.

“Where exactly am I?” Ethan asked.