Chapter 12
title: "The Taste of Trust" wordCount: 2985
Dr. Chen's hands are inside Declan's chest cavity and I cannot look away from the silver fragments glowing against his dark blood.
"Hold the light steady." Chen doesn't look up. Her fingers move with surgical precision, tweezers extracting another shard. It hits the metal tray with a sound like a bell. "This one was close to his heart. Another inch and he would be dead."
I adjust the surgical lamp. My hands are steady even though my stomach is trying to crawl up my throat. The clinic smells like antiseptic and old concrete. We're three levels below a shuttered textile factory in the industrial district, the kind of place that doesn't exist on any map. Chen's been here for fifteen years, patching up packless wolves and rogues who can't go to human hospitals without questions.
Declan's face is gray. His breathing is shallow.
"How much silver?" I ask.
"Enough to kill most wolves." Chen extracts another fragment. Another bell-tone in the tray. "He has a strong constitution. Or he is too stubborn to die."
"Both."
She almost smiles. "You know him well."
"Yeah, no." The words come out harder than I mean them to. "I don't know him at all."
Chen glances at me. Her eyes are the color of amber, old and knowing. She's maybe sixty, her black hair streaked with silver, her hands scarred from decades of this work. Declan said she owed him a favor. He didn't say what kind.
"The silver is causing toxicity." Chen's voice is clinical now, detached. "His body is trying to fight it but the fragments are too deep. I can remove what I see, but there may be pieces I cannot reach. He will need days to heal. Maybe a week."
"We don't have a week."
"Then you will have a dead mate." She says it matter-of-fact, like she's commenting on the weather. "Silver poisoning causes hallucinations. Memory loss. Sometimes wolves say things they would not normally say. Secrets come out when the mind is not in control."
My pulse kicks up. "What kind of secrets?"
"Whatever he is hiding from you." Chen pulls out another fragment. This one is larger, jagged. Declan's body jerks. A sound escapes his throat, raw and animal. "Hold him down."
I press my hands against his shoulders. His skin is burning. The mate bond flares between us, a live wire of pain and need. I can feel his wolf clawing at the inside of his chest, trying to heal him, trying to push the poison out.
"Easy." I don't know if I'm talking to him or to myself. "You're okay. You're going to be okay."
Chen works in silence for another ten minutes. The tray fills with silver fragments, each one a small piece of death. Finally she sits back, strips off her gloves.
"That is all I can reach. The rest will work its way out or it will kill him." She stands, moves to the sink. "There is a recovery room through that door. Get him on the bed. I will bring fluids and something for the fever."
"Thank you."
"Do not thank me yet." She washes her hands, methodical. "Declan Thorne has many enemies. If they find out he is here, we will all die. You understand this?"
"I understand."
"Good." She dries her hands. "I will be back in twenty minutes. Do not let him shift. If his wolf takes over while the silver is still in his system, it will kill him."
She leaves through a side door. I'm alone with Declan and the smell of his blood.
I get my arms under his shoulders. He's heavy, dead weight. The mate bond pulses with every heartbeat, his pain bleeding into mine. I drag him through the door into a small room with a single bed, a chair, a lamp. The walls are concrete. No windows. A door on the far side that probably leads to another exit.
I get him onto the bed. His head lolls to the side. His shirt is ruined, soaked with blood and antiseptic. I peel it off him. The wounds are still open, angry red lines across his chest and ribs. His skin is too hot.
"Declan." I touch his face. "Can you hear me?"
Nothing.
His phone. I need to call Mira, figure out what the hell happened after we left. I check his pockets. Empty. His jacket is on the floor where Chen dropped it. I pick it up, search the pockets.
No phone.
But there's something else. A leather portfolio, slim and expensive. The kind lawyers carry.
I shouldn't open it. It's not my business. Except everything about Declan is my business now because he's my mate and we're walking into a death trap together and I need to know who the hell I'm trusting with my life.
I open it.
Photos. Dozens of them. All of me.
My hands are shaking.
The first photo is dated two years ago. I'm walking out of The Marrow, my hair shorter then, my face harder. Someone took this from across the street. Telephoto lens. Professional quality.
The next one is a week later. I'm at the corner store on Fifth, buying cigarettes. The date is written in neat handwriting at the bottom. The time. The location.
I flip through them. There are dozens. Me at the gym. Me at the library. Me at three different squats I used before I found the current one. Each photo is dated. Annotated. Some have notes in the margins.
Stayed at the Riverside squat for two weeks. Left after police sweep.
Working night shifts at The Marrow. Tips are good. She is saving money.
Saw her talking to a packless wolf outside the grocery store. He tried to recruit her. She said no.
My vision is blurring. I can't breathe right.
Two years. He's been watching me for two years.
I flip to the last page. There's a photo from three days ago. I'm walking down the street near my squat, hands in my pockets, head down. The angle is different. Closer. Like he was right there.
Under the photo, in that same neat handwriting: She does not know what she is yet. But she will.
The portfolio falls from my hands.
I look at Declan. He's unconscious, his face slack with fever. The mate bond is pulling at me, trying to make me go to him, trying to make me forgive this.
Yeah, no.
I pick up the portfolio. Walk to the chair. Sit down. My whole body is vibrating with something that might be rage or might be fear or might be both.
He knew. Before the blood moon. Before The Marrow. Before any of this started, he knew what I was.
And he's been watching me. Tracking me. Following me.
The mate bond twists in my chest, trying to tell me there's an explanation. Trying to tell me he was protecting me.
I don't care.
I sit in the chair with the portfolio in my lap and I wait for him to wake up so I can ask him why he's been stalking me for two years and what the hell he meant by debt I can never repay.
Chen comes back with an IV bag and antibiotics. She hooks Declan up without asking about the portfolio on my lap. Maybe she already knows. Maybe Declan told her. Maybe everyone knows except me.
"He will wake in a few hours." She checks his pulse, his temperature. "The fever will get worse before it gets better. If he starts hallucinating, do not believe everything he says. The silver makes wolves tell the truth, but it also makes them relive their worst memories. Sometimes they cannot tell the difference between past and present."
"Great."
She looks at me. Really looks at me. "You are his mate."
It's not a question.
"Apparently."
"And you do not trust him."
"Would you?" I hold up the portfolio. "He's been stalking me for two years."
Chen's expression doesn't change. "Declan Thorne is many things. A stalker is not one of them."
"Then what do you call this?"
"Penance." She adjusts the IV drip. "Whatever he did, he has been trying to make it right. That is all I know. That is all he would tell me."
"When?"
"Six months ago. He came here bleeding, half-dead. Said he needed to disappear. Said there were wolves hunting him. I patched him up and he left. He came back a month later and asked me to watch someone. To make sure she was safe. To let him know if she was in danger."
My throat is tight. "Me."
"You." Chen picks up her bag. "I told him I am not a private investigator. He said he would pay me anyway. He has been paying me for two years to keep an eye on you. To make sure you had what you needed. The money you found in your squat sometimes? The warnings about police sweeps? That was him."
The room is tilting.
"Why?"
"I do not know. He would not say." She moves toward the door. "But I know guilt when I see it. And Declan Thorne is drowning in it."
She leaves.
I sit in the chair and stare at the man on the bed and try to make sense of any of this.
He's been watching me for two years. Protecting me. Paying Chen to keep me safe. Leaving money and warnings.
Why?
What debt could he possibly owe me?
I don't know him. I've never met him before the blood moon. Before The Marrow. Before—
The mate bond flares. Declan's eyes open.
He sees me first. Then the portfolio in my lap.
His face goes carefully blank.
"Sloane—"
"Two years." My voice is steady. Cold. "You've been watching me for two years."
He tries to sit up. Fails. His hand goes to his chest, to the wounds. "I can explain."
"Then explain."
Silence. He's looking at me like he's trying to figure out what to say. What lie will work. What truth he can afford to tell.
"I knew what you were," he says finally. "Before the blood moon. Before you knew."
"How?"
"I smelled it on you. In the alley. When I found you." He's choosing his words carefully, each one measured. "You were dying and your wolf was trying to surface. Trying to save you. I could feel it."
"And you've been stalking me ever since?"
"Not stalking. Watching. There is a difference."
"Yeah, no, there really is not." I stand up. The portfolio falls to the floor. "You've been following me. Taking pictures. Tracking where I live, where I work, who I talk to. That is the definition of stalking, Declan."
"I was trying to keep you safe."
"From what?"
He doesn't answer.
"From what?" I'm shouting now. I don't care. "What are you so afraid of? What debt do you owe me? Why have you been watching me for two goddamn years?"
"Because I owe you a debt I can never repay." His voice is raw. Broken. "Because I failed you once and I will not fail you again."
"When? When did you fail me? I have never met you before—"
"That is not the whole truth."
The words hit me like a fist.
"What?"
He closes his eyes. "I cannot tell you. Not yet. Not until—"
"Not until what? Not until I trust you? Not until we're both dead?" I'm shaking. "You want me to walk into Garrett's house with you. You want me to trust you with my life. But you won't tell me why you've been stalking me. You won't tell me what debt you owe. You won't tell me anything."
"I am trying to protect you."
"By lying to me?"
"By keeping you alive." He opens his eyes. They're fever-bright, desperate. "If I tell you the truth, you will hate me. And I cannot—I cannot lose you. Not now. Not when I finally have a chance to make this right."
The mate bond is screaming between us. It wants me to go to him. It wants me to forgive him. It wants me to believe that whatever he's hiding, it doesn't matter because we're mates and mates are supposed to trust each other.
But I'm not my wolf. And I don't trust him.
"Make what right?" My voice is barely a whisper. "What did you do?"
He looks at me for a long moment. I can see him weighing it. The truth against the lie. The risk against the reward.
"I cannot tell you," he says finally. "Not yet."
"Then we're done."
I turn toward the door.
"Sloane, wait—"
The mate bond flares. Hot and desperate and inevitable. It wraps around my chest like a fist and pulls.
I stop.
I shouldn't. I should walk out. I should leave him here and figure this out on my own. But the bond is pulling and my wolf is howling and I can feel his pain like it's my own.
I turn around.
He's sitting up now, his hand pressed to his chest. His face is gray. Blood is seeping through the bandages.
"You are going to hurt yourself," I say.
"I do not care." He's breathing hard. "I cannot lose you. Not like this. Not because I am too much of a coward to tell you the truth."
"Then tell me."
"I cannot."
"Why?"
"Because you will leave." His voice breaks. "And I will deserve it. But I am not strong enough to watch you walk away. Not yet. Not when I have spent two years trying to keep you alive. Trying to make up for what I did. Trying to—"
He stops. His hand goes to his left wrist.
He's lying.
Not about all of it. But about something.
"What did you do?" I ask again.
He doesn't answer. He's just looking at me with those fever-bright eyes, and I can feel the mate bond pulling, pulling, pulling.
I cross the room. I don't decide to. My body just moves.
I stop in front of the bed. He's looking up at me. His hand is still pressed to his chest. Blood is seeping between his fingers.
"You are bleeding," I say.
"I know."
"You need to lie down."
"I know."
Neither of us moves.
The mate bond is a living thing between us now. I can feel his heartbeat. His pain. His desperate, aching need.
I can feel my own.
"This is a bad idea," I say.
"I know."
I lean down. His hand comes up, cups the back of my neck. His fingers are hot. Shaking.
"Sloane—"
I kiss him.
It's not gentle. It's not sweet. It's desperate and hungry and inevitable, like falling off a cliff. His mouth is hot. He tastes like blood and antiseptic and something darker, something that makes my wolf howl with recognition.
Mine.
His hand tightens on my neck. His other hand finds my hip, pulls me closer. The mate bond flares between us, white-hot and overwhelming. I can feel his wolf rising to meet mine. I can feel the bond trying to snap into place, trying to make us whole.
I pull away.
"Yeah, no." I'm breathing hard. My lips are tingling. "I do not do this with people who have been stalking me for two years."
His hand is still on my neck. "Sloane—"
"I need space." I step back. His hand falls away. "I need to think. I need to figure out if I can trust you. And I cannot do that when the mate bond is trying to make me forgive you."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
He looks at me. Really looks at me. "No. But I will try."
I pick up the portfolio from the floor. "I'm keeping this."
"All right."
"And I'm taking the other room. The one Chen mentioned."
"All right."
"And you're going to stay here and heal and not follow me."
"All right."
I walk to the door. Stop. Look back at him.
He's sitting on the bed, his hand pressed to his chest, blood seeping through the bandages. He looks like he's been gutted. Like I just took something vital and walked away with it.
The mate bond is screaming at me to go back. To forgive him. To let this go.
I open the door and walk through it.
The other room is smaller. A cot. A sink. A door that locks from the inside.
I lock it.
I sit on the cot with the portfolio in my lap and I try to breathe.
Two years. He's been watching me for two years. Protecting me. Paying Chen to keep me safe.
Why?
What debt does he owe me?
What did he do?
I open the portfolio again. Flip through the photos. Me at The Marrow. Me at the gym. Me at the library. Each one dated. Annotated. Tracked.
I stop at the last photo. The one from three days ago.
She does not know what she is yet. But she will.
What does that mean?
I close the portfolio. Lie down on the cot. Stare at the ceiling.
The mate bond is still there. I can feel Declan through it. His pain. His guilt. His desperate need for me to forgive him.
I close my eyes.
I'm not going to sleep. I'm just going to rest for a minute. Just going to breathe and think and figure out what the hell I'm going to do.
But exhaustion pulls me under like a riptide.
I don't know how long I'm out. Could be minutes. Could be hours.
I wake to the sound of Declan's voice through the wall.
He's talking. His voice is thick. Slurred. Fever-rough.
"Finn, I am sorry. I am so sorry. I did not know—"
I sit up.
Finn.
That was my brother's name.