Page 6 of Primal Bonds 1

Fuck, the kid is cute.

The youth shifted his gaze away first and then licked his lips, looking around the place. He frowned as if in confusion. Turning his attention back to Adam, he asked tentatively, “You’re not taking me to the hospital?”

Adam raised a brow and retorted, “You want to be put back into the institute?”

Terror played markedly on that beautiful face. “No! Please, don’t take me back there,” the boy said softly, his voice shaky.

Adam had no doubt there were no fond memories for the boy where the institute was concerned. He had heardsome horrendous stories. Bottom line, the place was not a warm home to raise beastkin children as the higher-ups advertised it to be. It was a well-known fact that the hospital, as routine practice, transferred any beastkin coming through their facility to the institute, which was why most avoided going there even if they suffered from life-threatening injuries or illnesses.

“Tell me what happened.”

The boy licked his lip again, which agitated Adam. He shifted his gaze, working on pushing away that new emotion awakening inside him. He got up and headed over to the kitchen on the other side of the room.

“I was minding my own business,” the boy said. “They beat me up, Tony and his gang. I didn’t do anything.”

“I can surmise that,” Adam said as he opened the door of a cabinet and searched inside for the first aid kit. More quietly, he added, “No, you didn’t do anything.”

No one needed to have done anything to acquire those shitheads’ attention, and once you got their attention, you were pretty much screwed.

With the first aid kit in hand, Adam returned to the boy and sat on the side of the couch.

“Take off your clothes,” he said. “I need to see your injuries.”

The boy widened his eyes for a moment, looking damned alarmed and ready to bolt. Adam could see fear radiating in those beautiful blue eyes, and he wanted to curse.

His voice gentle, he said, “I want to check your injuries. I won’t hurt you.”

The boy stared at him for another moment and then hesitantly nodded. He shifted in his position and then motioned to lift his torn, dirt-stained sweater. His movement was slow, and Adam knew it must be painful just to move his body.

The man leaned forward, grabbed the hem of the sweater, and gently pulled it up the boy’s body and off his head.

The boy uttered, “Thanks.”

Adam didn’t reply. He ran his gaze over the boy’s body, noticing how slender he was and the numerous bruises and scratches.

He asked, “What’s your name?”

“Shiro.”

“Shiro,” Adam said. “Japanese?”

Shiro nodded. “My mom, she was a Japanese foxkin. Immigrant.”

“Dad?” Adam asked absentmindedly.

“Don’t have one,” Shiro said.

Fuck! He had just stepped on a landmine! Right, no more asking about personal information. For now, at least.

“Sorry,” he said.

“About what?”

“That I asked you about…” He sighed. “Never mind.”

Shiro frowned. “I don’t mind you asking.” He smiled then, a sad one. “But, Mom, she loved me. When she died and then they came, the institute, I was only ten then.”

“And how old are you, Shiro?” Adam asked. “I need toknow because I don’t want the police to think I’ve kidnapped a beastkin child.”

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