Page 162 of Tamed By Her Touch

Rows of enormous restraint chairs were bolted to the floor. They looked less like medical equipment and more like instruments from some ancient torture chamber—black metal frames surrounded by heavy cuffs designed to secure wrists, ankles, thighs, waists, chests, even throats.

Old scanning equipment hung from articulated arms overhead, while dormant displays lined the walls. And in the middle of the room was Kaelus.

Clair’s heart nearly stopped when she saw him.

The big Hybrid was strapped into one of the chairs. One massive arm was locked down by a thick metal cuff around his wrist, and both ankles had been secured so tightly against the base of the chair that the metal strained whenever he moved. A heavy restraint crossed his waist, though he had apparently managed to get that one only halfway because one side was hanging loose.

His other hand was free, she noted. Of course it was—he couldn’t lock both wrists himself, and it seemed clear that he had done this on his own—he had locked himself down in one of the chairs as much as he was able.

But why?

The sight of him terrified her. His black hair was damp with sweat and plastered to his forehead. His chest rose and fell far too quickly beneath his grey tunic, which was darkened with perspiration. The veins stood out along his neck and temples, and his golden eyes had a reddish glow in the dim room—the pupils narrowed to thin black slits.

But even more startling than his eyes, she saw that his fangs were fully extended. And he was staring at Clair as though the sight of her caused him physical agony.

“Kaelus?” she whispered, taking a step towards him. “What’s going on here?”

His free hand clenched around the arm of the chair hard enough that the black metal groaned.

“Get out,” he said hoarsely.

Ignoring his order, Clair took another step.

“No, not until I understand what’s going on here.”

“Clair, please…”

Something in his voice made her skin prickle. It was Kaelus in that chair, but there was something underneath his voice now—something rough and hungry and dangerous.

She looked at the straps that held him in place…at his face…at the sweat soaking his clothing and the way every muscle in his massive body seemed wound so tightly he might tear himself apart.

Then she noticed the angry red puncture mark on the side of his neck.

Clair’s blood ran cold. Oh God—what had been done to him?

She hurried toward him, one hand outreached to touch him.

“Don’t!” Kaelus roared. And the sound of his voice was so agonized that Clair actually stopped several feet away.

“What happened to you?” she asked. “Why are you down here? Why did you lock yourself up?”

Kaelus shook his head.

“Leave. Just leave—please!”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” she said stubbornly.

His eyes—now much more red than gold—flashed.

“Clair, for the love of the Goddess, turn around and get out of this room!” he begged hoarsely.

“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not leaving you strapped to some medieval alien torture chair!”

Kaelus threw his head back and made a hoarse, frustrated sound.

“Gods, of all times for you to be stubborn!”

Clair looked around the room.