Page 57 of Wild Games

“Camille, talk to him. You have to be on your best behaviour now, Jax. The council is coming.” He sweeps his arm wide at the scene behind us. They’ll come to investigate, to pour over every tiny detail, including me. “You need to get it together.”

26

CAMILLE

The path from the lake winds upward through the trees as Jax carries me without any sign of strain. Each step is sure despite the darkness, and his breathing is steady against my ear. The night air is cold, making me burrow deeper into his warmth.

“The artifact,” I mumble against his neck. “Where...”

“Already handled.” His voice rumbles through his chest. “Threw it into the deepest part of the lake. No one’s using that thing again.”

The packhouse appears through the trees, windows glowing against the darkness. He doesn’t hesitate, heading straight for the side entrance that leads to the clinic. His feet are silent on the steps, but the door bangs loudly when he shoulders through it.

The hallway is dim, lit only by emergency lighting. Everyone has been put on lockdown, sent back to their living quarters, until Dean can be sure the threat is fully eliminated, and they’re not looking for anyone else.

Compared to the usual buzz of voices and activity in the packhouse, tonight, it feels eerily quiet and abandoned.

Jax navigates without hesitation to an exam room at the far end of the clinic.

“Here.” He sets me on the bed, the paper cover crinkling. His hands linger at my waist, reluctant to let go completely. “I need to check you over.”

Moving around the room with confidence, he pulls supplies from cabinets and accumulates all the things he needs. There’s something very appealing about seeing him in his element. A steadiness in his movements that settles my frantic wolf, who’s still not quite convinced we’re safe.

The methodical preparation also appears to transform him, the tension in his shoulders easing, his heartbeat slowing, and his wolf retreating to let him take over, seemingly calmer now. Back to himself. The same man who just tore out an alpha’s throat is now warming a stethoscope between his palms, so it won’t shock my skin.

These two sides of Jax couldn’t be more different.

He’s not just a damaged wolf who’s evaded sanction by the council by hiding out in his pack. He’s a fiercely loyal pack mate and a deadly warrior. I’m pretty confident that if Jax had entered the Games, he’d be preparing for a final right now.

“Temperature first.” He turns to prepare other equipment while we wait.

I study him working in the quiet. His hair is starting to dry, curling slightly at his neck. His expression is completely focussed. This is his sanctuary, I realize. The place where he’s not the dangerous brother, but someone useful and needed.

Pulling out the thermometer, he frowns at the reading. “Too low.” He nods at the fabric clinging to my chest. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. I’ll help.”

His hands are steady as he helps me peel away the soaked shirt. When it finally comes free, cool air hits my damp skin, and I shiver. He sucks in a breath, but from relief, not desire.

“You’re not bruised.” He traces a finger along my ribs where he gave me CPR. It hurts, but there’s nothing broken. His touch is feather light, exploring as it travels across my sternum and then down between my breasts. “I thought there would be marks. I was trying not to break anything, but… I had to…”

Guilt rolls off him.

“Even if I did have broken ribs, I couldn’t be mad at you for saving my life.” I catch his hand, holding it against my skin. “And I heal fast.”

Relief flashes across his face. He helps me out of the rest of my wet clothes, hands lingering as he checks for injuries, but there’s nothing left other than the faded pink remnants of scratches from being dragged along the ground.

The care in his touch makes something warm bloom in my chest. I practically melt when he produces a soft nightgown and helps me into it like I’m something precious, guiding my arms through the sleeves and flicking my hair out from the collar. When his fingers brush my neck, I feel the tingles all the way to my core.

“Your turn.” I gesture at his soaked clothes.

He strips quickly, carefully folding the damp scarf and putting it to one side before digging out a pair of scrubs from a long cupboard off to the side. Scars covering his torso stretch as he moves, the shiny, silvery skin more visible in the fluorescent light. They’re everywhere, old ones layered over newer ones, telling stories I’m sure I’ll never fully understand.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He pulls on the dry shirt, catching my stare.

“Like what?”

His mood has darkened as he looks down at the floor, ashamed.

“Like you pity me.” He gives me his back, pretending to check the supplies he’s already gathered.