Page 77 of Wild Games

Nodding enthusiastically, I leave Lynn and Zane locked in some kind of unspoken debate. I don’t need to track Jax; I know exactly where he’ll end up when he’s done pushing his body until exhaustion forces his wolf to settle.

I head straight for the packhouse basement. The broken chains are gone, but I spot new restraints coiled on a shelf, leather trimmed with silver threads, and gleaming metal. The sight of them breaks my heart. This was his plan for during the full moon run, the one he didn’t want to go on, but I made him.

The one that was going well until Raven ruined it all.

I settle on his bed to wait and pull his pillow into my lap, breathing in his scent. From outside, I can hear the distant sounds of celebration as the rest of the pack enjoys the BBQ laid on for after the run.

Above, the back door opens so quietly, I almost miss it. But Jax’s scent at the top of the basement steps precedes him, and I sit up as the door swings open. He freezes in the entryway when he scents me, every muscle locking rigid, as his eyes find mine in the dim light.

He’s wrecked. Dirt streaks his skin in random patterns, mixed with sweat, that makes tracks through the grime. Scratches cover his arms and chest, some deep enough to still be bleeding. His hair stands in wild spikes, with bits of leaves tangled in the dark strands.

His chest heaves with each breath, ribs expanding and contracting too fast. His hands shake where they hang at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling rhythmically. This is from more than just exhaustion.

“Get out.” The words scrape from his throat like broken glass. “Now, Camille. While I can still...”

I stand slowly, the bed creaking beneath me. His eyes follow my movement, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any colour visible. A growl rumbles in his chest, so low, I feel it more than hear it.

“Still what?”

I move toward him, knowing that this might be my only chance to get through to him.

“Control myself.” He backs against the closed door. His palms flatten against it, fingers splaying wide. I can see the effort it’s taking to hold himself there, tendons standing out in his arms.

Instead of doing as he asks, I reach for the hem of my shirt. The fabric whispers as I pull it up, revealing skin, inch by inch.

His breath catches, chest stuttering mid-inhale.

“Stop.” The word comes out strangled. His fingers dig into the wood behind him. “You don’t understand what you’re doing. I’ll mark you. Claim you. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

Heat pools between my legs at his words.

He’s saying it like it’s a bad thing rather than the most natural thing for any two mates to do.

“I think you will.” I unhook my bra with steady fingers, letting it fall to the concrete with a soft sound. Cool air hits my skin, making goosebumps rise, and my nipples harden.

His eyes flash, hunger burning bright, before he squeezes them shut and shakes his head violently.

“Camille.” My name breaks in the middle, part warning, part plea. His whole body trembles now, muscles jumping under his skin, like he’s fighting an invisible opponent. “Raven’s a dick, but he’s right. I’m not safe for you…”

Now it’s my turn to disagree.

“You’re always safe for me.” I hook my thumbs in my leggings, pushing them down over my hips. The fabric pools at my feet, and I step out carefully, kicking them aside. “You’ve never hurt me. Never done anything I didn’t want.”

His groan is tortured as he reopens his eyes to see me naked now, except for my pale pink lace panties.

“This is different.” His hands curl into fists against the door, knuckles going white. “This is permanent.”

He’s so focused on thinking, on trying to control everything, that he’s not letting his instincts guide him. If he’d just stop overthinking everything, he’d know what I feel, that his wolf is quieter in my presence.

“And?” I move to the shelf where the restraints wait, the concrete cold under my bare feet. The leather is soft when I pick them up, well cushioned, despite their brutal purpose. Metal buckles clink together quietly. With one eyebrow raised, I watch Jax’s confusion with amusement. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

His eyes go wide as I approach the wall where the chains used to anchor. The metal rings are still there, bolted deep into stone, rust staining the concrete around them.

I run my finger over one, feeling the cold metal, before clipping the first restraint around my wrist.

“What are you doing?” His husky voice cracks. He pushes off from the door, taking one stumbling step forward before forcing himself back.

“Proving a point.”