“Is everything okay?” Jen asked, looking quickly from the cage to Bethany and back to the cage. Drake growled at her. To her surprise Jen didn’t back down. “Remember your place, Drake.” Her words were laced with power that even Bethany could feel.

“Everything is fine, well…” Bethany paused still moving from foot to foot.

Jen waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Everything is as fine as it can be for a chick who’s been slurped on like a juice box for eleven years, rescued by werewolves, and thrown into a room with one of those werewolves who happens to be feral and her mate. Everything is just peachy.”

“The chick also happens to need to use the bathroom,” Bethany added and smiled sheepishly.

Jen grinned. “I was trying really hard not to ask if you had some weird tick that made you hop around like that. Okay, question answered. Come on.” She motioned her to follow. “I’ll show you to the bathroom and loan you some clean clothes. You can take a shower and get the vamp stench off of you.”

Bethany didn’t move. She turned back to look at Drake who was staring daggers at Jen. “What about him?”

Jen stopped at the bottom step and turned back to the man who was currently in his wolf form.

“Phase,” she ordered. When he didn’t, she took a step toward him and growled. “Now.”

Drake didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter. Where one minute he’d been a wolf, the next he was a completely naked man. To her surprise, neither Jen nor Drake seemed bothered by the nudity. He picked up the sweats he’d been wearing before and slipped them on and then took a step toward Bethany, but his eyes remained on the Alpha.

“She has needs, Drake, and it is your job, as her mate, to make sure those needs are met. Right now, she needs to pee. She also needs a shower, and, bloody hell, maybe, just maybe, she needs a break from your growling, feral, overbearing ass. You have my word as your Alpha that she will not go near any males. I will take her straight to the bathroom and bring her straight back. Please don’t make me drag Decebel into this and have him restrain you.”

Bethany looked at Drake. Their eyes met and the intensity of the emotions swirling in his gaze caused her to catch her breath.

“I’m sorry.” She heard his voice in her mind. “I know you need to take care of things. But because my wolf is nearly in full control, I can’t think beyond the need to keep you close. Go,” he said suddenly, both in her head and out loud. “Go. But please hurry back. I’m sorry to ask that.” Drake reached out a hand to her. She stepped close enough to touch it. The skin on skin contact seemed to bring both of their anxieties down ten notches.

“Let’s go Bethany, or you’re going to pee all over the floor, and I’m sorry, but my hospitality stops just before the peeing on the floor mark.”

Bethany let go of Drake’s hand and felt the anxiety rush forward again. She gritted her teeth and pulled back her shoulders. She wasn’t a coward. She could walk away from him long enough to get cleaned up and take care of her business. As soon as the door to the room closed behind them, Jen grabbed her arm. “Run,” she said just as a loud banging sound came from the room behind them.

Bethany started to turn around but Jen jerked her forward and up the stairs. “He’s going to go berserk no matter what. His wolf is feral, Bethany. He can’t stand being separated from you, especially when he knows you’re in a mansion full of other dominant male werewolves.” They sprinted up the stairs and down the hall together, but Bethany continued to hear Drake’s roars coming from the floor below. He sounded not only angry but anguished as well.

“Here’s the bathroom,” Jen said pulling them to a stop and pointing to the right. “There are towels on the counter and all the necessary items a girl needs when she finds herself having a been underground for a decade kind of day.”

“Does that kind of day happen often?” Bethany asked, her brow raised.

Jen smirked. “Too damned often, little wolf, too damned often.” She pushed Bethany toward the door and started to pull it closed. “Oh, and only open this door when you hear three knocks, a pause, and then three knocks again. I’ll bring you some clothes.” She glanced over Bethany’s body. “Once we get some food in you and some meat on your bones, you look like you’ll be about my size. So the clothes are going to be baggy for now.” She started to close the door and then stopped, holding up her finger. “Oh, one more thing, when you look in the mirror, don’t freak out, and whatever you do, don’t scream.”

Bethany locked the door as soon as it was closed and then turned to look in the mirror. She froze. She couldn’t have screamed if she had wanted to because there was no air in her lungs to create the sound. The last time Bethany had seen herself in a mirror had been eleven years ago when she’d been seven years old. She had expected that her body and face would have changed. She wasn’t stupid. But knowing it and seeing it right in front of her…well that was two very, very different things.

Her hair was long, dark, and an unruly mess. Her eyes looked too big for her thin face. Her nose was okay she supposed. It was a nose; how great could it really get? Her lips were pink and full, but they seemed to stay in a state of perpetual droopiness. Bethany pulled her lips up into a smile. Creepy, she thought. Who would have thought you’d need to practice smiling?

After staring at her face and overanalyzing every inch of it, she started to remove her clothes. The first thing she noticed about her body was that it was basically a skeleton with skin on it. Attractive, she thought.

Reluctantly, she began to turn. Bethany twisted her head so that she could see her back in the mirror. For the second time since she’d looked into the mirror, she lost her breath.

Starting on her right hip, traveling down to mid-thigh, were what could only be described as intricate tattoos. She stared, trying to contort her body so that she could get a better look. With a sudden gasp she realized that she’d seen the markings before, very recently. They looked just like the ones she’d seen on the neck of the large werewolf currently trying to break through iron bars one floor below her. How? she wondered, gaping at herself in the mirror.

The markings were dark black and appeared as though they’d been expertly drawn upon her flesh by someone very talented. Her father had a tattoo and she remembered how the ink looked on his skin. These were much the same. Bethany ran her hand down her hip and thigh over the patterned skin. It was completely smooth. She grabbed a hand towel that was hanging by the sink, doused it with water, and vigorously began rubbing her thigh. The marks were unaffected, but she did manage to redden and irritate her skin with the friction. She immediately regretted this action. But could anyone blame her for trying?