Authors: Lynn Hagen
“What did you get beaten with?” Mason’s tone brooked no argument.
The impulse that was buried deep down inside of him to obey a dominant male was humming to life, almost making Ian turn and answer Mason. The need was strong, but his shame was stronger.
Ian ignored him.
A piece of furniture scraped across the floor. Ian assumed it was the chair he had seen sitting close to the window. “I’m changeling, Ian. I can smell your emotions. Do I need to spell out what you are feeling right now?”
Ian turned his head and raked his eyes over Mason. The man was sitting next to the bed in the chair Ian had guessed Mason dragged close. “What are you, a damn head shrink? I don’t need you to tell me what I’m feeling”—Ian turned his head back around and settled it on his crossed arms—“trust me, I already know.”
“For all intents and purposes, Freedman is your doctor. Hiding things from him will only hurt you. He can’t treat you properly if he doesn’t know what’s going on.” The man’s tone was measured, spoken with command. Ian once again had to force himself not to immediately give Mason what he wanted.
“Then why are you here? Do you get your rocks off from hearing how someone was beaten?” Ian normally didn’t speak so boldly to a man who looked like he could kill him without breaking a sweat, but Mason wasn’t Newman. Ian didn’t have to obey him. Ian didn’t have to obey anyone now that he was free from the club.
His stomach cramped harder.
“Why won’t you just go away?” Ian’s back molars gnashed together as he fought the pain building inside of him. It felt like a web of talons embedding each claw into Ian’s nerve endings, scraping, pulling, and cutting until he wanted to cry out and beg for it to stop.
But Ian remained silent.
“Because I’ve become your caretaker,” Mason stated firmly.
Ian turned his head, glaring at Mason. “I wasn’t aware I was in a prison. What, is Rick afraid I’ll corrupt Dorian and take him with me?”
Mason shrugged as he relaxed back in his chair. It irritated the hell out of Ian to see Mason so nonchalant about what he was going through. “Think what you want. I’m not going to sit here and debate the issue with you. All I’m saying is you should trust Freedman if no one else. He is medically treating you, after all.”
“Fine, send him in. But you don’t get to stay while he’s in here.” Ian watched Mason get up and walk out. He lifted his head, looking around the room. There was only one window in here, and from what he could see from the bed, the drop could break something, or worse.
Freedman came in and closed the door behind him.
They weren’t leaving him alone for five seconds. It was beginning to feel like he really was in a prison.
Or back at the club. Ian didn't need to feel trapped. It only made his chest hurt worse knowing he couldn’t walk out of here without someone stopping him.
“Mason says you are ready to talk to me.”
* * * *
Mason glanced up when Rick walked into the kitchen and nodded. That was his cue to go back upstairs. Mason took the steps two at a time, coming to a stop at the bedroom door just as Freedman walked out. The human looked grim as he closed the door behind him.
“Well?” Mason asked.
Freedman’s light-blue eyes flickered over to him. “I can’t tell you what we talked about, Mason. You know that. You knew that when you sent me in there.”
Mason did, but he didn’t like the strained look on Freedman’s face. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, biting back the command for Freedman to tell him what had happened to the man he had a strange fascination with.
“No, I know.” Mason gave Freedman an appreciative smile before the human walked away. Blowing out a long breath, Mason entered the bedroom. His eyes immediately zeroed in on Ian trying to crawl out of the bedroom window.
Mason hurried across the room, using his changeling speed to reach Ian before he leapt. He grabbed the man and pulled him back in—Ian fighting him the entire time, smacking, clawing, biting, and screaming to the top of his lungs.
The bedroom door flew open, Rick, Sasha, and the two juveniles standing there looking murderous.
“We’re cool,” Mason barked out as he grabbed Ian’s arms and secured them at his sides with his own arms. He held on tightly as Ian kicked and struggled to get free. “He just tried to take a stroll outside through the window.”
“But that’s a twenty-foot drop,” Rick said. “You would have broken your neck.”
“What the fuck do you care?” Ian wiggled, trying to get his arms free. “I want to go. You can’t keep me here!”
“So you can do what?” Mason growled into his ear. “So you can go get another fix, another bite? I don’t think so.”
Ian smacked the back of his head into Mason’s chest and screamed at the top of his lungs once more. Mason held on, not in a bruising way, but enough to make sure Ian didn’t hurt himself.
Mason was out of his depth. He had no clue what to do with the out-of-control human. Never before had he fought so hard to stop someone from hurting himself. And Ian leaving to get high was hurting himself in the worst sort of way.
Ian was grasping Mason’s arms with his fingers, breaking skin, digging his nails in deep. Mason ground his teeth, ignoring the pain, pushing it aside and telling his jaguar that Ian wasn’t trying to harm them. His changeling beast was snarling, but Mason beat him back.
“Get me something to restrain him,” Mason finally said when he saw that Ian wasn’t calming down, but gearing up.
Benito came back with some neckties. “It’s all I could find.”
Mason walked to the bed with Ian still secured in his arms. He pressed forward, keeping just enough weight on the smaller man, but keeping in mind his changeling strength. He pulled one arm from under Ian, and then the other, using his chest to hold the man down.
Ian tried to use his freed arms to swing back at Mason, but Mason grabbed them, pulling them behind Ian. He was careful of the cuts, but saw a few had opened…bleeding. “Get everyone out of here!”
The scent of blood called to the baser instincts of changelings. Mason knew he had trouble on his hands even before he saw Benito stiffen next to him, the werewolf’s canines elongating as he began to pant heavily and scent the air. Miguel, his cousin, was next to him in seconds, his dark-blue eyes shifting into his werewolf eyes. Shards of yellow appeared as they began to glow.
“Freedman!” Mason quickly tied off Ian’s hands, binding them behind him before Mason stood and growled at the two juveniles, warning them to stay back.
Sasha and Rick were in the doorway unmoving, their eyes shifted, but they retained their human form. And Mason could only thank the powers that be for their control. He had enough trouble keeping a hold of Ian without having to fight off a couple of blood-hungry changelings.
Ian was a weak male. He was what changeling would consider the easiest of prey. Mason was fighting the need to lick Ian’s wounds clean before biting him. He fought it with every single breath he took. But he wouldn’t be able to fight it for much longer if the others shifted.
Freedman appeared in the doorway and snapped his eyes between the men standing there. Benito and Miguel were shifting, tiny hairs of fur sprouting as they moved closer to Ian.
“Please don’t make me hurt you.” Mason growled out his warning. “Back the fuck up!”
Benito blinked a few times before looking up at Mason. It was as if he was struggling to understand what Mason was saying. “But he smells so good.”
Rick moved into the room, licking his lips as he grabbed both juveniles, pulling them back. “Come on, men. We have to go.”
“What’s going on?” Freedman asked, clearly confused.
“Stop him from bleeding,” Mason demanded as he stood there, guarding Ian until the others finally left the room. Sasha glanced at Mason, and then at Ian. The hunger cleared in his kelly-green eyes before he curled his hands into fists and backed away.
Freedman slammed the door closed.
Mason’s body was humming, the adrenaline coursing through him. His jaguar was primed as it thought it was about to chase its prey down. He walked backward to the window and then dipped down, sticking his head out and inhaling the fresh, crisp winter air.
The sweet scent of Ian’s blood cleared from his mouth, throat, and then finally his lungs.
“You guys didn’t go through this when Omar was shot in the truck,” Freedman pointed out as he quickly cleaned Ian’s wounds. The smaller human was still struggling on the bed, unaware of what had just taken place, how close he had come to a feeding frenzy. It scared Mason, terrified him how dangerously close he had come to losing control.
“It all depends on the prey. How sweet the scent of their blood is, how wounded they are, and their strength, or lack of. Omar may have been wounded, but he is stronger than he lets on. Our beasts scented Ian’s total weakness, his omega place in this small group.”
“What about Dorian?” Freedman asked as he tried to work around Ian bucking and kicking.
“He’s mated to an alpha. To attack Dorian would be to challenge Rick. It’s an intricate web of many factors.”
“So basically, you all almost lost control because Ian is helpless.”
Mason nodded as he pulled back inside the window, but stayed close to the opening just in case the smell began to overwhelm him once more. His heightened senses enabled him to scent even a minute drop of blood, making the smell ten times stronger, more potent.
“I need to secure his legs.” Freeman jumped out of the way when Ian kicked back.
“No,” Mason said. “I’ll do it.” He pulled in a lungful of fresh air before going over to the bed and grabbing the discarded neckties on the floor. He grabbed Ian’s legs, stopping the man from smacking him with his feet before wrapping the ties around Ian’s ankles. The man was securely bound on the bed now.
A hunger that Mason had never felt before began to surface as he stared at Ian’s bound form. He looked incredible despite the injuries on his body.
Mason just stood there staring at the helpless man. Dark desires began to fill his mind, images of things he knew he could never do to Ian. The man had been too abused. Mason had to push those thoughts aside.
Ian was broken and there was no way Mason would take advantage of that fact. But there was no denying the feelings building up inside of him to totally dominate Ian. To make him submit to Mason’s will.
The man was securely bound on the bed. Freedman immediately began to finish his work, sealing up the reopened wounds with a thick cream, not only stopping the bleeding, but covering them under a heavy layer of the white substance.
“Am I okay to leave you with him or should I make you leave?” Freedman asked as he set the small tube aside and wiped his hands on his shirt.
Mason turned his head toward Freedman and had to think about what the man had just said. His mind had been so deep in thought about Ian he had forgotten that the guy was even there. “I’m fine. He isn’t bleeding any longer.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.” Freedman shook his head. “It was the most bizarre thing to walk into.”
“And had you tried to interfere with any of them, with me, we would have attacked you.” It was an honest statement.
Freedman gave him a hard stare, telling Mason without words that they could have tried. Mason respected the man’s hard-as-steel balls. He wouldn’t have been able to fight off five changelings in their beast forms, but hell if the gleam in Freedman’s eyes didn’t give Mason pause.
“I’ll see what I can do about finding some sedatives for Ian. I think the first couple of days are going to be the hardest on him.”
They both glanced down at Ian who was lying there panting, his eyes shut tight, his teeth locked together in a way that told Mason Ian was fighting what was happening to him.
At least Ian was trying to fight it.
That was a start.
“Thanks,” Mason said as Freedman walked toward the bedroom door.
“Don’t thank me yet. I may not find anything to help him through this. He may escape as well.”
Like hell
. Mason wasn’t going to let the man out of his sight again. His jaguar was snarling at the idea of Ian going back to those vampires, any vampire.
When they were alone, Mason made Ian a little more comfortable on the bed, rearranging him so he wasn’t hanging half off of the mattress.
“I’ll take the bindings off of you when you’ve calmed down.”
Ian turned his head away from Mason. Grabbing the chair, Mason took a seat.
Mason could sense that Ian was becoming calmer, his fight draining out of him. He leaned forward, grabbing Ian’s wrists to untie him.
The human pulled away.
Mason’s fingers lingered close, wondering why Ian didn’t want to be untied. He slowly leaned back. “Do the ties hurt?”
Mason was beginning to think Ian wouldn’t answer him. Then a small, “No,” came from the man.
Mason had told Dorian earlier that he was beginning to understand Ian. But truthfully, he hadn’t a damn clue what Ian was going through. The man had whip marks from the nape of his neck to his ankles, and every inch in between. Dorian had said Ian liked to get beat up. None of it made any sense to him at all.