Page 13 of Preacher

“Eyes here, Trent.”

His head came up. Sea-glass eyes, lashes too long for a face that bruised. He blinked at me, and I watched as his shoulders eased a little. That happened sometimes. People relaxed around me when they shouldn’t and tensed up when they didn’t need to. Trent didn’t need to. My wolf had chosen him, and I would protect him ruthlessly, even from myself.

“You eat?”

“Crowbar’s caramels. That’s it.” He waved over his shoulder. “He kept forcing me to eat them.”

“Only the first two.” Crowbar glanced at me. “Don’t let that innocent face fool you. Guys got fire in him.”

“That’s not eating.” I jerked my chin toward the side door. “Inside. Drift’ll throw something on the grill, and you’re gonna sit down before you fall down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re swaying.”

“I’m not—” He swayed again.

I caught his elbow, steadying him, and felt him flinch at the contact before going still under my hand like a rabbit that had decided the smartest play was to freeze. His arm felt thinner than it looked. I could feel the bone of his elbow through the fabric, and the heat coming off his skin said he was running on fumes and not much else.

“Easy.” I gentled my voice. “I’ve got you. Just walk.”

He let me steer him. That alone told me how empty his tank was.

Crowbar fell into step on Trent’s other side without being asked, and the three of us crossed the lot toward the side door. I kept my hand at the small of Trent’s back, the touch just enough that he’d know it was there if his knees decided to quit on him.

“Where’re we going?” His voice was scratchy.

“Inside. You’re gonna sit, eat, and we’re gonna talk.” I moved at his pace, clocking every twitch and tremble. This was more than skipping a meal. The human wasn’t just small. He was bone thin, like he’d been surviving on Ramen noodles and little else. I didn’t know Lamar, but we were going to have a conversation about my mate having a square meal while on shift.

“You said that part already.” Trent glanced up at me, those green eyes studying me. “The talking part.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t say what about.”

I huffed something that wasn’t quite a laugh and pulled the side door open with my free hand, holding it for him. “Mostly about the fact you’re staying here tonight.”

Forever if I had my way. He was my mate, but that didn’t mean his freedom had been revoked. It meant his safety was my top priority, even if my pack had to become his bodyguards.

He stopped dead in the doorway. I felt the lock-up go all the way through him. “I’m gonna come out alive, right?”

“Yes, Trent.” My hand slid over his back, fingers tracing his spine. I could feel my eyes trying to glow, but I forced my wolf to heel. Trent wasn’t ready for the truth, and I was in no mood to chase after him. Because the human would jackrabbit if he knew he was staring up at an apex predator.

“I have a job. I have a house. I have—” His voice cracked, and he clamped his mouth shut on whatever was supposed to come next.

I carefully turned him by the shoulders and bent my knees just enough to put us eye to eye. The bruise on his jaw was right there, an inch from my mouth. Up close, the coloring was even darker. Made me want to put hands on Hammer all over again. Son of a bitch should consider himself lucky I hadn’t killed him. The beatdown wasn’t for his arrogance, even though he had brass balls and no brain. He’d clocked a guy who couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds square on the jaw. So I put him in traction.

“You have a brother who handed you to a dealer,” I quietly reminded him, “a sister who pretends you don’t exist, and a front door that any one of four different men with a grudge knows the address to. What you don’t have is a safe place to sleep tonight. So you’re sleeping here.”

Trent’s eyes rolled back, knees buckling, body tapping out. I caught him, swept him into my arms, and carried him inside, my pack following on my heels.

Chapter Five

Trent

I inhaled deeply before I opened my eyes, the scent of tantalizing barbecued meat wrapping around me and teasing my senses. The smell made my stomach twist painfully with hunger. Wherever that smell was coming from, I wanted to be there.

Opening my eyes, I froze. The ceiling above me wasn’t mine. Mine had a water stain shaped vaguely like Florida. This one was wood. Actual wood beams crossing dark planks, with a ceiling fan turning lazy circles in the middle.