Page 15 of Reconditioning the Wolf

Ishmael furrowed his brows. He inhaled deeply before licking his lips. He slipped his attention toward the ceiling as a myriad of emotions flitted across his face. Finally, his jaw clenched once before he frowned at Madagascar.

Uh oh.

Madagascar just knew he wasn’t going to like what was coming.

“You keep saying that I have an animal, but that’s just not true,” Ishmael claimed, once again denying his heritage. “I’d know if I turned into an animal. And I don’t.”

Blowing out a breath, Madagascar jumped in with both feet and revealed, “That’s because those pills you’re taking are repressing your ability.”

“Repressing?” Ishmael repeated the word slowly, as if struggling with it.

Madagascar didn’t make him ask. “The pills stop your ability. They make it so you can’t feel your animal.” After a second of hesitation, he pressed, “Your wolf. Those memories of you changing into a wolf, they’re not delusions, Ishmael. They really happened.” When Ishmael continued to frown and even began to shake his head, Madagascar claimed, “That’s why your teeth lengthened, and you bit me.” He could feel the blood oozing from the wound, since Ishmael hadn’t closed it, and he pointed at his flesh. “That’s why you liked drinking my blood. Somewhere deep inside you, your wolf recognized that I’m your mate, and he claimed me.”

By the time Madagascar finished speaking, Ishmael was practically vibrating with the way he shook his head. His lips were moving, but even Madagascar’s heightened hearing didn’t allow him to make out what he was saying. Finally, when he urged Ishmael to stop shaking his head so hard, his heart practically broke when he managed to read his lips.

Ishmael was repeatingno, no, noover and over again.

Madagascar bit back a sigh, guilt flooding him as he realized he’d pushed too hard. Pressing close, he wrapped his arms around Ishmael and cradled him to his chest. He massaged the back of his neck with one hand while rubbing up and down his back with his other.

“I’m sorry, Ish,” Madagascar murmured into his ear. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He bussed a kiss to his mate’s temple. “I just wanted to be honest.”

“I want Doctor Meyer,” Ishmael whined, pushing against Madagascar’s chest. “She’ll make it all better.”

Grimacing, Madagascar sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, baby.” He held tightly to Ishmael, hating that his mate was trying to get away from him. “I wish I could give you what you want, but she won’t help. She’s lying, and she’ll only make it worse.”

“No, she doesn’t lie,” Ishmael bellowed, surprising Madagascar with the intensity of his anger. “She helps me.”

Realizing he was losing control of the situation damn fast, Madagascar figured he only had one option left. “I can prove it to you,” he declared. “I can prove that shifters are real.”

Ishmael snapped his mouth shut and froze. He stared at Madagascar for a long moment as if gauging his truthfulness. Ishmael even narrowed his eyes as if that would help him figure it out.

“How can you do that?” Ishmael asked, sounding wary. Then he snickered and asked, “The full moon ain’t for another couple of weeks.”

Scoffing, Madagascar appreciated the levity. “A shifter doesn’t need a full moon to change,” he claimed, rubbing along Ishmael’s neck, wishing he’d had the wherewithal to bite his mate back. Madagascar longed for the day when he would see his mark upon Ishmael’s neck. “Shifters can change anytime they want.”

“Then how come they didn’t change in their cage and ask to get out?” Ishmael frowned as he added, “I think I remember you saying that those animals were shifters and that they understood Kontra when he spoke to them.” Pinning a narrow-eyed gaze upon Madagascar, as if he’d made some great point, Ishmael added, “So why didn’t they prove they’re not an animal and get released?”

Madagascar sighed, hating that he had to destroy Ishmael’s illusion about the woman he obviously trusted and looked up to. “The facility didn’t want to experiment on regular animals,” he told him softly, earnestly. “They knew they were working on shifters. And they don’t care that shifters are sentient. They want to exploit our gifts.”

“Gifts?” Ishmael again looked confused. “What gifts?”

Madagascar hesitated, then began explaining shifter one-oh-one. He shared about their increased speed and strength, their heightened senses, and their vitality. He even admitted that a shifter lived upward of five hundred years, and that was why he could be over one hundred years and still look like he was in his thirties.

Shaking his head slowly, Ishmael muttered, “I think you’re gonna have to prove it.”

Nodding, accepting that, Madagascar murmured, “Like they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.” He leaned down and pecked a kiss to Ishmael’s lips, pleased when he didn’t pull away. Staring into his mate’s eyes, Madagascar asked, “Can you do me a favor first, though?”

Ishmael hesitated a second before nodding once. “Maybe.”

Madagascar chuckled softly at that. “I know you enjoyed the taste of my blood,” he revealed, indicating his neck. “Will you lick this clean, please?” When he saw Ishmael lean forward, then hesitate, he said, “Your saliva will help it scab over.”

While that was a bit of a stretch, Madagascar figured Ishmael wouldn’t be able to differentiate the scents between the truth and not. After all, Doctor Meyer had been lying to him for years. Finally, Ishmael nodded.

Holding his breath, Madagascar leaned closer to the man. Ishmael gripped his upper arms and pulled him down, and Madagascar was happy to go with it. When he felt the slide of Ishmael’s wet tongue over his flesh, he couldn’t hold in his soft moan.

“So good,” Madagascar whispered, a tremble working through him. “Just damn.”

Ishmael eased away from him, and he met his gaze with furrowed brows. “You really like that, huh?”

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