Page 32 of Tender Wild

Turning away from his reflection, he stripped out of his jeans and Miguel’s borrowed shirt. Bruises were already blooming across his ribs, purple-blue against pale skin.

“Jesus,” he whispered, looking at the mirror to examine a series of scratches down his back that he didn’t even remember getting.

Jared turned the shower on, waited until it became hot, then groaned as he stepped under the spray. Dried blood and sweat swirled around the drain in pale pink spirals. He tipped his head back, letting water sluice through his hair, over his face, down his chest.

For several minutes, he just stood there as heat seeped into his body, loosening knots he hadn’t realized were there. His muscles ached from the fight, from being thrown against walls and floors, from the desperate struggle to stay alive.

His hands trembled as he worked shampoo into his hair, fingertips finding tender spots on his scalp where he’d hit something—the floor, maybe, or the wall during the struggle.

“Bet the brochure for ‘Being Mated to a Wolf’ doesn’t mention armed home invasions,” he muttered, rinsing soap from his eyes.

A hysterical giggle bubbled up in his throat, quickly swallowed back down. Not the time for a breakdown. Later, maybe, when he wasn't standing naked in a shower at a wolf tavern with his newly-minted mate waiting outside.

Images flashed behind his eyelids—the hyena's weight pinning him down, the gun barrel cold against his neck, the sick satisfaction when his fist connected with the man’s face.

He braced a hand against the tile wall, breathing through the rush of delayed terror. That hyena had almost killed him. Would have, if Jared hadn’t fought back with everything he had. The enormity of it hit him suddenly, making his knees weak. He’d taken a life. Not in cold blood. The hyena would have killed him, would have taken him for whatever horrific experiments they were conducting. But still. He’d ended someone’s existence.

“I fought a hyena,” he muttered to himself, the words disappearing into the steam. He was half-laughing, half-horrified. “I actually fought a fucking hyena.”

Not just fought. Won. Somehow his skinny ass had taken down a shifter twice his size.

What amazed him most was how he hadn’t frozen. When the hyena had lunged at him, something primal had taken over, a strength he hadn’t known existed within him.

“He would’ve killed you,” Jared reminded himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he scrubbed at his scalp. “Would’ve killed Miguel.”

He’d gone from attempting to make an omelet to fighting for his life in the span of hours. It felt more like days. “And now I’m mated. To a wolf. Because today wasn’t complicated enough.”

His mate. Miguel. The reality of it hadn’t fully registered until now, standing alone with his thoughts under the pulsing water. His cheetah had chosen a wolf—a scarred, beautiful wolf with hands that could kill or comfort with equal skill.

A soft knock on the bathroom door broke through the steam. Jared startled, droplets flying as he turned toward the sound.

“You okay in there?” Miguel’s voice carried through the door, concern evident in his tone.

“Yeah, I’m—” His voice caught. Was he fine? Not really. Not after everything. “I’m just...processing.”

The door creaked open, admitting a rush of cooler air. Miguel stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the bedroom light. “Mind some company?”

Jared hesitated, then nodded, suddenly self-conscious about the bruises mapping his body like territories claimed by violence. “I’d like that.”

Miguel stripped, dropping clothes in a pile beside Jared’s. Each scar on his body told a story Jared wanted to learn—the jagged one across his abdomen, the smaller marks dotting his shoulders, the long streak down his thigh. Battle wounds that hadn’t dimmed his beauty.

The shower door opened, bringing Miguel’s fully naked and gorgeous presence into the steam-filled space. He stepped behind Jared, close enough that heat radiated between them without touching.

“I’m a mess,” Jared admitted, gesturing at the marks blooming across his skin.

“You’re alive. That’s all that matters.” He worked the lather through Jared’s hair, fingertips massaging his scalp, careful to avoid the sore spots. The gentle pressure coaxed a sigh from his lips.

Miguel massaged in slow circles, each touch soothed rather than ignited, caring instead of demanding. The simple act felt strangely intimate—more so than what they’d done on Miguel’s couch.

“Tilt back,” he directed, guiding Jared’s head under the spray. Water cascaded over his head as Miguel rinsed the suds away, one hand shielding his eyes from the spray. The care in that simple gesture nearly undid him.

Their bodies brushed together—a knee against a thigh, an elbow grazing ribs. Each point of contact sparked awareness through Jared’s skin.

“You fought like hell tonight,” Miguel murmured, voice low beneath the patter of water as he reached for the conditioner, working it through Jared’s tangled hair with practiced ease. “Most people freeze their first time.”

Jared’s laugh came out brittle. “Is there supposed to be a second time?”

“Not if I can help it. Tilt your head back a little more,” Miguel instructed, hands cradling the base of Jared’s skull.

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