Page 8 of Reconditioning the Wolf

Madagascar rose, pleased when Ishmael didn’t fight him when he urged him to stand.

“C-Can I get some stuff from my r-room?”

Upon hearing Ishmael’s stuttered request, Madagascar gaped. “You live here?”

While Ishmael nodded while twisting his fingers together in obvious unease, he mumbled, “Yeah. So I can be monitored for safety.”

Madagascar bit back a growl, wishing he could track down any of the assholes who’d filled Ishmael with whatever nonsense he clearly believed.

Chapter Four

Clutching his duffle bag to his chest, Ishmael struggled to keep his breathing even. He couldn’t see much through the tint of the windows, but he figured there wasn’t really much to see, since it was dark outside. Ishmael wished the sun had been shining so he could watch where they were going.

I bet the views would be lovely. I haven’t been outside farther than the picnic area at the facility in... I don’t know how long.

Ishmael didn’t drive, and most of the staff just ignored him. A couple of the guards had offered to drive him places, but he hadn’t liked the way they looked at him when they didn’t think he would notice, so he’d always declined. Plus, sometimes, when they didn’t realize it, he’d overheard them talking about him. They would call him names even as they made bets about who would pop his cherry.

While Ishmael wasn’t totally certain what that meant, he didn’t think it was a good thing, considering how they spoke about it.

Where am I going now?

Ishmael hadn’t seen anyone else from the facility being taken in the SUV. Instead, he was sitting next to Madagascar and surrounded by the handsome man’s buddies. They claimed they weren’t bad guys, but Ishmael had seen them removing the animals from their cages and loading them into a couple of big box trucks.

Where are they taking them?

If I asked, would they tell me the truth?

If I somehow got away, where would I go?

Without his phone, Ishmael couldn’t call Doctor Meyer. He didn’t have her phone number memorized. He’d never gone anywhere without it, so he hadn’t even tried. The guy who’d taken it hadn’t given it back, and he didn’t think he would even if Ishmael asked him.

They think they’re the good guys. Why do they think that?

Ishmael opened his mouth, thinking about asking, but he snapped his mouth shut again just as quickly.

Madagascar reached over and gently unpeeled one hand from his grip on his bag. With a warm smile, he threaded their fingers together. Then Madagascar squeezed that hand lightly.

“If you have something to say, you’re allowed to say it, Ishmael,” Madagascar told him softly. “I don’t want you to think you’re a prisoner.” His expression took on an uncomfortable twist as he murmured, “Even though you may feel like that right now.”

“I-I’m your p-prisoner?” Ishmael mumbled. He’d figured as much, but saying it out loud made it so much scarier. “Why?” Hunching his shoulders, Ishmael whispered, “What do you want with me?”

“To make you happy.”

Ishmael gaped upon hearing Madagascar’s softly spoken statement.

Madagascar lifted his free hand and gently touched Ishmael’s jaw, sending a fissure of tingles cascading down his neck. “I know you don’t believe me right now, Ish,” he rumbled softly. “I hope in time that you will.” Furrowing his black brows, Madagascar told him, “And in the meantime, I’ll do what I can to make your time with us as painless and pleasurable as possible.”

“P-Pleasurable?” Ishmael whispered, feeling a shiver travel down his spine. “What, uh—” He swallowed hard as his belly flipped oddly. “What do you mean?”

Madagascar growled for an instant before he cut it off with a cough. After rubbing a palm over his goateed face, he smiled wryly at Ishmael. “Sorry, Ish,” he murmured. “Thinking of you and pleasure at the same time makes me think of all the sweat-inducing things I’d like to do with you... to you.”

Understanding dawned on Ishmael, and he felt his cheeks heat. “Y-You’re talking about, uh—” He glanced around the vehicle, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention where they were sitting on the rear bench seat. Still, Ishmael lowered his voice when he stated, “Sex.”

Nodding once, Madagascar told him, “Yes, Ishmael.” He began using his thumb to lightly massage Ishmael’s knuckles. “I’m talking about sex. Your sexy body, your scent, your kind heart, they all turn me on very much.”

Ishmael felt the butterflies bumping in his belly begin to move lower, and his prick began to thicken behind his fly. Shifting in his seat, he mumbled, “I like your cologne, too.” Having never done anything with anyone before, he nibbled his bottom lip as he struggled with what else to say. “Um, a-and you’re very h-handsome.”

“Thank you, Ishmael,” Madagascar rumbled. “And I’m not wearing cologne. Shifters normally don’t because of our enhanced sense of smell.”

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