Page 54 of Dominion

Ben kicked him in the ribs. “Hey, Jack—you’re fired.”

He flipped the gun back around, pointed it at the little weasel’s head, and discharged it.

Ashley’s headswam like she’d downed three margaritas on an empty stomach. The dizziness seemed different than weakness caused by blood loss—there was a pleasant, but disoriented sensation, too. She’d somehow managed to get dressed and held a towel to the puncture wounds, but blood had soaked through her shirt and the towel and the sight made her nauseous. Her emotions were a tangled mess, too. She couldn’t stop crying—not because of the pain, although it was still excruciating, but more from shame and betrayal. Why had he bitten her? She had trusted him, given herself to him, and he’d turned savage. Had she somehow angered him? Surely tearing a hunk out of her shoulder wasn’t what he meant when he said wolves were rough when they had sex. Or was that the ‘marking’ she’d heard them talk about? Was this why he’d been so afraid to have sex with her?

Maybe so, but why had he just abandoned her afterward? He’d walked out the door while she’d been huddled naked and bleeding and he hadn’t returned. Even as she swore she’d never forgive him for this, her lovesick heart kept waiting for him to return and explain himself. But he hadn’t.

A tap sounded on the door.

She froze. Ben wouldn’t knock. Who could it be?

“Ashley? It’s Zolla. Ben sent me over to help you. Can you let me in?”

He sent Zolla? She felt queasy. She didn’t even merit him coming himself? She stood up from where she’d been sitting on the edge of the bed and wobbled over to open the door.

Zolla took in the bloodied towel without surprise. He stepped through the door and closed it quickly behind him. Pulling out a chair, he pointed at it. “May I look at your wounds?”

“Where’s Ben?” she asked as she found her way to the indicated chair.

“He went after Jack.”

That made her even angrier. Clearly, she meant nothing to him—he’d pawned her off on his friend while he went for revenge. It seemed he had only been keeping her around to make the trade with his laptop. She’d been a fool to think he had any feelings for her.

Zolla tore her shirt open at the neckline to expose her shoulder.

“Hey,” she protested. “You could’ve just asked me to take it off. This is the only shirt I have at the moment, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to answer to Ben for having your shirt off,” he muttered.

“Ben has no claim on me,” she said bitterly.

Zolla raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips as if to show he disagreed, but wasn’t going to argue. He inspected the punctures in her skin and then walked to the bathroom where he wet a washcloth in the sink. When he returned, he cleaned the wounds.

She drew a breath. “Why did he do this to me? Is… is this what wolves do when they have sex?”

“No. He marked you. Do you know what that means?”

She shook her head, then stopped, wincing as the pain shot across her trapezius muscle.

“I don’t think he meant to do it, but his instinct probably took over. It means he’s chosen you as his mate. When a shifter male marks his mate, a special secretion coats his teeth. You probably feel a little drugged right now?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“The secretion is embedded in your flesh and his scent remains permanently, telling other wolves you are taken by him.”

A flood of indignation soaked through her. How dare he permanently mark her? She would be scarred for life and he hadn’t even asked first. And then he’d just walked out on her and sent Zolla over like she was some mess someone else had to clean up.

“This is bullshit,” she said, twisting to glare at Zolla, as if it was his fault his pack mate was an asshole. “He just bites a chunk out of my shoulder and then disappears and sends you to clean it up? Can you get his scent out of me, because I am sure as hell not sticking around for this kind of treatment.”

Zolla had leaned in close to inspect the marks under her collarbone. “Ashley… do you always heal this fast?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” She stood up and walked to the bathroom to look in the mirror. The gashes that had been so horrible forty-five minutes before had mostly closed, the bleeding stopped.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Is this fast?”

Zolla waited for her to return. “Yes. Most humans would require multiple stitches and would still be bleeding freely, but your blood has already coagulated and the flesh is sticking together as if this wound were a day old, instead of an hour.”

She touched her shoulder, trying to understand what he was telling her.