Page 5 of Reconditioning the Wolf

Madagascar squeezed Ishmael’s hand again and gave him a reassuring smile. “You don’t need to apologize to me,” he told him, surprising Ishmael. “I can’t wait to learn all about you.” Even giving him a smile, Madagascar asked, “What’s your name, my mate?”

“Um, Ishmael,” he replied, wincing as a fresh stab of pain coursed up his arm. “Ishmael Cartwright.” When Simon rolled his eyes, even managing to sneer around his gag, Ishmael muttered, “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Ishmael,” Madagascar claimed, giving him another reassuring smile. “I’ve been waiting to meet you for a really long time.”

“Why?” Ishmael asked, feeling more and more confused by the second. He really liked the sound of Madagascar’s deep voice and wanted him to keep talking. “How long?” Being confused wasn’t a new thing for Ishmael, but something about what was going on seemed super important to him. “Why are you being nice to me?” Cocking his head, Ishmael blurted out, “You’re the bad guys.”

“Uh, we’re really not,” Ryan claimed from where he squatted next to him. He flashed a smile up at Ishmael before returning his attention to where he was bandaging his arm. “I was right where you are not too long ago,” he told him. “Confused and fighting for the wrong side.” With a pat on Ishmael’s shoulder, Ryan straightened. “There. With your shifter healing, you’ll be good as new in a few days.” He began putting away his supplies as he stated, “We’ll explain everything and help you get up to speed on what’s really going on.”

Simon tried to snarl something, but the gag muffled his words.

“Um, okay,” Ishmael mumbled.

Maybe if I play along, they’ll let me go. Then I can text Doctor Meyer and tell her what’s going on here. She’ll be so mad.

“I’m Madagascar, by the way,” the handsome black man told Ishmael, confirming his name. “And to answer your question, I’m one-hundred-twenty-three years old.” His smile widened. “So I’ve been looking for you for about a hundred years or so,” he claimed with a wink.

“Naw. You can’t be that old,” Ishmael countered, shaking his head. “You gotta be joshin’ me.” With a laugh, surprised to find levity in such a scary situation, he told him, “You don’t look more than thirty-five. And no one lives that long.”

“Shifters do,” Madagascar claimed, squeezing his hand again. His expression turned troubled. “Were you raised by humans, Ishmael?”

Ishmael shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember much from before the fire.”

“How long ago was that?” Madagascar pressed.

“Not sure,” Ishmael admitted. Seeing Madagascar’s concerned look, he hunched his shoulder and muttered, “Um, Doctor Meyer said it was over ten years ago now, but I was in a coma for a while, too.”

“Doctor Meyer?” Madagascar pressed.

Simon roared from behind his gag even as he tried to rise from where the redhead had pushed him to the floor.

The redhead stopped Simon from moving, but Ishmael understood anyway.

Tugging his hand free of Madagascar’s, Ishmael pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “I’m not answerin’ no more.”

Chapter Three

Madagascar wanted to pull Ishmael’s hand back into his own. While he desperately wanted to soothe the hulking mountain of a man that was his mate, he knew his touch was no longer welcome—at least, not right then. Plus, Madagascar hated to think it, but he had a niggling idea that his mate was a little on the slow side.

I need to get him away from these scientists and doctors and their influence.

But how to do that without making him a prisoner?

Damn it. I may need to make him a sort of hostage for a bit so I can get everything straightened out with him. He’s a shifter, and he’s an adult, so why doesn’t he know about shifting?

What the hell have the scientists done to him?

Madagascar wasn’t stupid enough to think that Ishmael would stay with him by choice, yet. The man didn’t know he was a shifter, and he didn’t seem to know anything about them. As much as Madagascar wanted to make Ishmael happy, he had a funny feeling that what he would need to do to educate the man would hurt him first.

Damn.

Deciding the best course of action was to let Ishmael rest, Madagascar offered him a small smile. “Okay, Ishmael,” he rumbled softly. He squeezed his mate’s huge boulder of a shoulder, unable to help his continued desire to touch his mate. Releasing him was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “Just rest and relax.”

Madagascar forced himself to turn away from Ishmael. Moving to Sam’s side, he muttered, “What do you think?”

“I think you’re in a difficult situation,” Sam answered just as softly. He flicked his gaze to Ishmael for a second, then glanced at the monitors before focusing his dark eyes on Madagascar. “We’ll get him to the doc and draw his blood, but I don’t know what he’ll be able to do here in the bayou.” After a second of hesitation, Sam muttered, “It just may be time to leave this area.”

“Leave the area?” Madagascar couldn’t help the surprise in his tone. “What about those who can’t shift?” Just as quickly, he offered, “I could drive a box truck.”

---