“Aric.” Pulling up a chair, she laid a hand on his forearm. “This is me you’re talking to. It’s not the scars on the outside that concern me.”

He snorted a laugh, ignoring the twinge of pain it caused all over. “Yeah, and this is me you’re talking to, so you know I don’t do the feelings and head-shrinking crap. Besides, no one wants to know.”

“I do,” she stressed.

“You get paid to care,” he snapped. “You’re a doctor.”

Mac’s eyes widened as she was taken aback, but she quickly composed herself. “I’m your friend, too, and I know you well enough to get when you’re deflecting. I also know you don’t take well to lazing around, so if you want to be cleared for duty again, you will open up.”

His gut clenched. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“Damn it, Mac.” Fisting his hands at his sides, he stared at the IV stuck in the back of his right one. A minute ticked by, two, while he struggled with how to put his damned feelings into words. “I’m not going to freeze up on the next op, if that’s what everyone’s worried about.”

“Okay. What will you do?”

“Rip them all to fucking pieces and torch the remains. What else?”

Her expression softened. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Why? Because I’m letting out healthy anger or some such shit?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m stating a fact—they’ll pay.”

“Anger can be healthy if it’s directed at the right target.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? What other target would I…” Then he got it. Shit. “You think I still blame Jax for what happened to me?”

“Do you?” She leaned forward, her gaze pinning him to the bed.

“What? No!” But the lie almost strangled him.

“But you did at one time,” she pointed out. “You said ‘still.’”

Looking away, he thought about it. In captivity, he’d thought about the choice Jax had made, saving his mate’s life instead of his brother’s. About being hauled into that helicopter, the horror of realizing there was a very good chance he’d never see the Pack again. The endless torture, and yes, in his darkest hour, hating Jax. Cursing him for what he’d done.

But wasn’t that justice for what you’ve done to him and the team?

Taking a couple of calming breaths, he was able to tell Mac what she wanted to hear. Not necessarily the unvarnished truth. “I hated him, for a while. Or thought I did. But the second I saw him—was it last night?”

“Yes.”

“When I saw him last night, and he was so torn up over it… I knew it wasn’t Jax I hated.” Liar. He swallowed and went on with difficulty. “It was Chappell and his whole operation. If it weren’t for them, humans and shifters wouldn’t be suffering the terrible things being done to them. It’s Chappell’s doing, and his minions’, and they’re the ones who deserve to pay. I’ll live for the day that happens.” Okay, that last part was true, but his heart still held a load of pain and inner conflict with regard to the choice Jax had made. Regardless of how much he’d deserved it.

She studied him a long moment before replying. “All right. You’re saying the right things, but I’ll want to schedule a couple more visits in my office before I release you as fit to work.” She held up a hand to stave off his protest. “I have to make certain your head is together before you get back in the field. An operative harboring suppressed rage makes mistakes, and mistakes get innocents killed. You’re too good a Pack member not to understand that.”

“Fine.” He sighed. “But I don’t have to be thrilled about it.”

This earned him a full-fledged smile. “No, you don’t. Rest and I’ll check on you later.”

Persistent woman. Aric contemplated Mac long after she left, mostly because he had nothing else to do. She was lovely and wonderful, and a genuinely nice person. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing she “did it” for him. He was damned sick of being alone. But even if there’d been an attraction on his part, it might’ve been too late.

Mac was wearing Kalen’s pentagram. Interesting. Maybe he’d ask her about that later.

Aric began to fidget, plucking at the sheets and picking at the bothersome tape holding his IV in place. He really needed to talk to Nick about getting televisions installed in the infirmary rooms. Even the crappiest of hospitals had TVs, for God’s sake.

He’d just decided to close his eyes and try to take a nap when the door opened again. At first he couldn’t place the woman who walked in and couldn’t imagine why a stranger would be at the compound, much less visiting him. She was tall, probably only three or four inches shorter than his six-foot, two-inch height. She wore her shoulder-length sable hair pulled back into a ponytail, and her angular face was fresh-scrubbed, very attractive though she wore no makeup.

As she turned to close the door, he couldn’t help but notice that her jeans fit her long thighs and rounded rear end like a glove. Not too tight but emphasizing the junk in the trunk that made his mouth water. Manna from heaven to an unrepentant ass man like himself.

Turning to face him, she approached his bedside, curiosity—and maybe fatigue—in big, chocolate brown eyes that were shadowed underneath as though she’d had little sleep. Tired or not, she carried herself with her spine straight, shoulders back and head up. Totally in control of herself and any situation she encountered, assessing him openly.

“I saw you last night,” he realized out loud. “In the lab, when my team came.”

She held out a hand. “I’m Rowan Chase, Micah’s older sister.”

“Aric Savage.” Automatically he started to raise his right arm, but the tug on his hand reminded him of the IV, so he gave her his left one instead.

The instant their fingers curled around each other’s, a jolt shot down his arm and through his chest at the contact. What the hell? His visitor looked as surprised as he did by the zing of electricity, quickly snatching her hand back and wiping the palm on her jeans as if he had a contagious disease. Inside, his wolf paced restlessly, distressed at the broken contact. Aric covered his confusion with the obvious question.

“How’s Micah?”

A small smile tinged with sadness graced her lush mouth. “Alive, but he’s got a long road ahead for recovery. He’s—” She cleared her throat, obviously restraining her emotions. “He’s not healing all that fast, not like I’ve been told a shifter should. I don’t think he’s fighting too hard.”

That answered a couple of questions. One, she knew what they were. Which meant Nick had probably filled her in. Two, Rowan loved her brother very much.

“Listen, I know for a fact that Micah loves you more than anything,” he told her. “Once he realizes he’s been rescued, and that you’re here, nothing will stop him from getting well.”

“You sound so certain.” Her voice held so much hope.

“I am.”

He studied her closely, and she returned the favor right back. She wasn’t the most model-gorgeous woman he’d ever met, but there was something about her that attracted him. She radiated inner strength and a spine of steel, but her sharp features were softened by a hint of vulnerability that made him want to take her in his arms and not let go. A new awareness crept in, and it took a few seconds before he recognized what it was.

Rowan’s scent.

It didn’t jolt him as her touch had done, but rather, filled his senses slowly, like the aroma of a lit candle finally reaching him from across the room. An ocean breeze and tropical flowers. That was the beautiful essence of her, and it sank into every cell of his body, calling to him—and to his wolf—as nothing else ever had.

Underneath the sheet, his cock swelled rapidly, filling until the damned thing was rock hard and aching. Aw, hell. He raised one knee a little, hoping she didn’t notice his problem. He wasn’t easily embarrassed or made uncomfortable, because he just didn’t give a fuck what most people thought. But this sudden, overpowering need he felt to press his naked skin to hers, to be inside not just any woman, but her, baffled him. And scared him a little.