Page 9 of Reconditioning the Wolf

Sighing, Ishmael frowned. “Why does everyone keep talking about shifters?” He shook his head even as he stated firmly, “Doctor Meyer explained it to me. There’s no such thing.” After a second of hesitation, Ishmael added, “I used to have delusions brought on from the smoke and chemicals I accidentally inhaled in the fire. Thoughts of turning into a wolf, but Doctor Meyer figured it out, and with my medication, I don’t have them anymore.” Seeing the way Madagascar’s brows shot up, Ishmael hurried to say, “Maybe if that guy gives me back my phone, I can call the doctor, and we can go see her. I bet she could help you, too.”

For an instant, Madagascar appeared shocked. His brown eyes were wide, and he opened and closed his mouth. Then he seemed to shake himself out of it, and he lifted his free hand and again traced along Ishmael’s jaw with the backs of his fingers.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Madagascar rumbled with a smile. “That’s important information for us to have.” Then his smile faded, and he shook his head. “I don’t know how you really ended up with those people, but I hope we can find out.”

“I told you,” Ishmael insisted. “There was a fire. I—”

“I know you believe that, Ishmael,” Madagascar cut in, which Ishmael thought was a little rude. “I figure that’s what they’ve been telling you, but I don’t actually think it’s true.”

Frowning, Ishmael muttered, “You shouldn’t interrupt people. It’s rude.”

“My apologies, Ishmael,” Madagascar quickly told him. “I’ll try to be more mindful of that in the future.”

Ishmael nodded, mollified. “Okay.” Then he found himself asking, “Why do you think it’s not true?” Scowling at the handsome black man, Ishmael wondered, “What would be the point of lying? Doctor Meyer made sure I had a comfortable room there and a job. She’s nice.”

Maybe a little stern on occasion, but nice.

“I really don’t have an answer to all those questions, Ishmael,” Madagascar told him, obviously being truthful. “I’m hoping the guys can help us find out, though.”

Before Madagascar could say more, he felt the vehicle slow. He leaned toward the window, looking out. A clearing opened before him, and he could make out a nice house with a turret thingy on the left side and a wrap-around porch. Lights flooded from the windows, illuminating a garage off to one side.

Perhaps due to the rumble of the vehicles—the motorcycles some of the guys were driving were awfully loud, after all—a number of figures were pouring from the house.

“Oh,” Ishmael whispered, surprised to see a couple of animals easing from the forest and a wolf trotting out of the house. Uncertainty flooded him as Sam parked the SUV. Ishmael glanced toward Madagascar, who was watching him with a concerned look on his face, before looking back toward the yard. Ishmael wasn’t certain he wanted to get out of the vehicle.

“No one will hurt you, Ishmael,” Madagascar told him quietly. “The doc will need to draw blood and check your vitals, but he’s going to be doing that to all the shifters we rescued.”

Even as Ishmael nodded, he muttered, “But I’m not a shifter.” Doctor Meyer had explained it to him many times.

Madagascar sighed softly but didn’t refute him. Instead, he leaned forward and followed the other guys out of the vehicle. With their hands still joined, Madagascar urged Ishmael to follow.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Ishmael did so. He stopped outside the open door, his bag in one hand, holding Madagascar’s tightly with the other. He swallowed hard as he watched all the activity, shock filling him when many of the men were greeted by other men with hugs and deep kisses.

“A-Are they... couples?” Ishmael murmured.

“Yes, Ish,” Madagascar confirmed. “Many of these guys are shifters and have mates of their own.”

Huh. Bad guys have someone love them?

Ishmael didn’t know how that worked. If they weren’t good people and did bad things, why would someone love them? Then again, he’d heard the expression love is blind, so maybe that was it.

Or maybe they’re not really bad after all... or notthatbad.

Madagascar squeezed Ishmael’s hand to get his attention. “And I hope that once you understand what was really going on at that facility, you’ll accept what I’m telling you.” The large black male hesitated an instant, his smile appearing a little tentative. “And you’ll accept that I’m your mate.” With another squeeze to Ishmael’s hand, Madagascar told him, “It’s one of the reasons we feel so naturally drawn to each other. We’re connected right down to our souls.”

Standing next to each other, Ishmael realized he actually stood an inch taller than Madagascar. He hadn’t really noticed while at the facility due to how crazy everything seemed... and the pain from his arm. The pain pill that Ryan had given him had worked really well, though, because Ishmael barely felt it anymore. Ishmael had thought Madagascar was bigger than him, but that wasn’t actually the case.

Maybe it just seems that way because of his strong, assured personality.

“I-I don’t really know what that means,” Ishmael admitted softly. “Are souls a real thing?”

“Oh, yes,” Madagascar assured, his smile growing larger. “They are.” Then movement off to the side caught the other man’s attention. “And now you get to meet my family.”

Ishmael looked where Madagascar was and took an involuntary step backward, but his back hit the side of the SUV. There was nowhere to go. He felt a tremble work through him as he watched the approach of five large black men, one big white guy, and a little white guy.

“Y-Your family?” Ishmael whispered.

Boy, do they look intimidating. What if they don’t like me?

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