Page 11 of Reconditioning the Wolf

“True that,” Valentine stated sagely. Then he moved to Ishmael’s other side and slipped an arm around him, being mindful of his injured arm. “Room in the house or one of our tents?”

“Is there an empty room?” Madagascar asked curiously while he and Valentine lifted his mate. He would definitely favor having a bed for his mate while claiming him.

Once he’s ready. And gods, I hope it won’t be too long.

“Yeah,” Congo assured, rising, too. He peered toward the group of newly freed shifters. “I’ll let Kontra know we’re taking him to the second bedroom on the right upstairs, and that we’ll need Eli, Sam, or Ryan before too long.” As Madagascar nodded and they started moving, Congo added, “Maybe if he sees all of us camping out back, humans and animals coexisting, he’ll come around quicker.”

After uttering those hopeful words, Congo began striding swiftly toward where Kontra worked with a number of others on the rescued shifters.

Between the four of them—Shannon and Eurik each grabbed a leg, too—they carried Ishmael to the indicated room. Evan and Zhaul hurried before them. The pair quickly pulled down the comforter and sheet and arranged the pillows.

Once Madagascar had Ishmael settled on the bed, he moved to the foot of it. His mate’s feet nearly hung off the end, and he carefully removed his mate’s boots and socks, setting them aside. Madagascar hesitated, wondering if it would be too intrusive to remove his shirt or pants. Deciding it would, he grabbed the sheet and pulled it up over him.

With a sigh, Madagascar stared at his sleeping mate, unable to get enough of the sight of the man. He desperately wanted to strip him and trace every inch of his big body. Madagascar’s fingers twitched with his desires.

“I’m happy for you, man.” Valentine slung his arm around Madagascar’s shoulders, a grin on his lips. “Even if it takes a little work, you know it’ll be worth it.” Then he winked before releasing him. “Be patient. I’m sure it won’t take long for him to come around. You know how Fate works.”

Madagascar nodded. “From your lips to Fate’s ears.”

“Hey, Mads,” Ryan greeted, walking into the room followed by Congo. He carried a satchel over his shoulder. “Figured I’d take advantage of Ishmael being unconscious and take his blood.” Setting the bag on top of the dresser, Ryan swept his gaze over Ishmael while opening it. “I imagine he fainted from getting overwhelmed, but we’ll keep an eye on him, just in case.”

Easing onto the edge of the bed, Madagascar couldn’t resist taking Ishmael’s hand again. “Thanks, Ryan.”

“Okay.” Ryan approached with a few supplies. “Let’s get this done so we can send it to Lark in Stone Ridge to be tested.”

Ryan quickly and efficiently took three vials of blood. After wrapping them and placing them in the bag, he returned to the bed’s side. He checked Ishmael’s pulse as well as the wound on his arm.

“I don’t see any signs of infection,” Ryan declared, rewrapping Ishmael’s arm. “For now, I’m thinking rest, food, and fluids.” With a pat to Madagascar’s shoulder, Ryan told him, “I’ll leave a pain pill with you for him.”

After tucking everything away, Ryan pulled out a small pill bottle. He shook one pale yellow tablet onto the dresser. Ryan closed the lid and tucked the bottle into the bag.

“How long do you think he’ll sleep?” Madagascar wondered, hoping Ryan had some idea.

Shaking his head, Ryan shrugged. “Tough to say. He could have already been tired from working at the facility, or he could be really stressed out from everything that’s happened this evening.” He pointed at Ishmael’s arm. “I know he’s a shifter, but his system is probably compromised by whatever shit was in the pills they convinced him to take.”

“Okay. Thanks, Ryan.” Madagascar watched as Ryan saluted, picked up the satchel, and headed out of the room. He sighed and relaxed against the headboard. Peering around at the members of his bear sleuth, Madagascar smiled, feeling fatigue begin to fill him as the adrenaline from the incursion into the facility began to drain from him. “Thanks for your help, guys.”

“You’re welcome, bro,” Congo replied with a smile. Pointing between them, he encouraged, “You should climb into bed with him.” Congo held up his hand, palm out, to stall Madagascar’s comment about how presumptuous that was, and told him, “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re both shifters. The skin-on-skin contact will kickstart the need to cement your bond, even in him.”

Letting out a chuckle mixed with a groan, Madagascar admitted, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.”

“You will, Mads,” Congo replied confidently. “I have faith in you.” After patting his leg, he turned toward the door. “There’s still a few hours of night left. Take advantage of it.” Congo ushered the others out the door—the men offering another round of congratulations as they went—and told him, “We’ll plan to bring you breakfast an hour or so after daylight, but if you need something sooner, just holler.”

“Thanks again, guys.”

After Congo closed the door behind him, Madagascar leaned over and untied his boots. He toed them off, removing his socks next. Standing, Madagascar stripped off his shirt before hesitating with his fingers over his fly.

Considering Madagascar didn’t wear underwear, he decided just unbuttoning his jeans would have to do. He pulled back the sheet and stared at his sleeping mate. Since Ishmael’s long-sleeved shirt was already ruined—Ryan had cut off one sleeve to get at his wound—Madagascar decided to grow a claw and remove it in pieces.

Madagascar eased into the bed next to Ishmael and pulled up the sheet. After a few seconds of hesitation, he slid his arm under his mate’s body. Unable to resist, Madagascar rolled the bigger man toward him, placing Ishmael’s injured arm across his chest and his head on his shoulder.

The skin-on-skin contact caused the hairs on his arms to stand on end, and he let out a deep sigh of contentment. He stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, listening to Ishmael breathe. Madagascar felt his mate’s warm breath ghosting across his chest, and his nipples beaded.

Doing his best to ignore the way his cock throbbed behind the fly of his jeans, Madagascar closed his eyes. He enjoyed his mate’s delicious aroma and matched his breathing to the other man. When Ishmael snuffled a little in his sleep and nuzzled his cheek against Madagascar’s chest, he couldn’t help but smile.

Reveling in the simple pleasure of holding Ishmael in his arms, Madagascar slowly drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Six

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