Read Online The Bureau (A Cage for Men and Wolves Book 1) by Michelle Kay - Free Book Online Page A

situation, Clover didn't press the matter. Instead, she moved on to his bite wound which would take more than his shirt hem being held up. Trying to seem more considerate she kept her movements slow as she pushed his shirt over his head, leaving it bunched awkwardly on his upper arms behind him.
    This wound wasn’t as neat as the other—the skin torn rather than sliced. Once the dried blood was wiped and peeled away, she saw an outline of her teeth, haloed by a deep purple bruise.
    Elliot's eyes burned holes through her as she moved to clean what turned out to be the very minor cut on his throat. She tried to remain steady under his gaze, fighting the urge to break his nose. Maybe it wasn't fair that all her hatred for the Bureau had fallen to his shoulders, but, when she looked at him, all she saw were black uniforms, metal tipped boots, and cells crammed full of children ready to be sent off to finishing schools.
    The cut on his neck didn't need a bandage, and she figured the high collar of his uniform would hide it.
    "We'll have to come up with an excuse for that bruise on your forehead." She repacked the first-aid kit as she spoke, purposefully avoiding his stare.
    "How do you expect me to get you into the Bureau?" Elliot's voice was incredulous. It was obvious he didn't expect her to have an answer.
    "I'm going to pose as your slave." She wrestled his shirt back over his head.              "They're 'indentured servants,' not slaves." Elliot's head was ducked at an odd angle as he wormed his way through the neck hole of his shirt, so he didn't see the disgusted look she gave him.
    "Are you serious?" Clover scoffed. "It doesn't matter what you call them. They are slaves. And if you're not careful, you're gonna be one too."
     
    Elliot seemed settled after their latest brawl upstairs, so several hours later, Clover finally untied him. Of course, she fashioned an ankle-cuff that was then zip-tied to the leg of the couch. Somehow, he didn't seem to mind and sat quietly eating the dinner she'd let him make—the last thing she wanted was to cook for her prisoner.
    Having already finished her portion, she sat on the floor, nursing the fire she'd made in his pristine hearth, her parcels laid out in front of her. After a cursory glance through the brochure and handbook she moved on to her registration papers. Her physical information was printed down one side, and on the other was information about Elliot, listing him as her “legal owner." There was a line he would have to sign in order to make it official.
    At the bottom was the photograph Fisher had taken of her along with a shiny seal and a five digit identification number. She'd never seen a photograph of herself before, but Fisher had done a better job of cleaning her up than she'd realized. Too nervous to open the heavy parcel, she pulled out the package she’d gotten from Hannah and a small sewing kit she’d found in Elliot’s upstairs closet; it was the kind people got for emergencies, but never ended up using.
    After a glance in Elliot’s direction, she opened the package she’d brought from home. She’d not re-wrapped it as neatly as Hannah had, but her messy knot had done the job. Inside was the uniform she’d gotten, dry this time. The orange piping on the brown blouse reflected bits of firelight into her eyes as she spread it out on the carpet in front of her. The skirt went beside it, and the shoes were tossed out of the way.
    The brochure probably had something about attire, but she'd seen slave wolves on the street enough to know how they were supposed wear their uniforms. Holding the shirt up to her body she decided to let it stay baggy, afraid of butchering it in an attempt to tailor it to fit. The skirt would have to be hemmed though, since it hung well past her knees, something she never saw on other indentured werewolves.
    "Where did you get that?" Elliot asked from where he was sitting, left with little to do other than watch