Page 46 of Enemy Wolf

“I can’t let you get hurt.”

“They’ve already hurt you,” Orson growled. He dropped one hand to my bandaged forearm. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? I could smell your fear every time I asked you about it.”

“Orson, please,” I whimpered. “I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Too bad. I’ll walk through dragonfire to make sure you’re safe.”

I shook my head and a sob wracked through me, the mental image of that last statement too much to bear.

Orson stiffened. “Is that who it is, a dragon shifter? Are they forcing you to make this potion?”

I could only cry harder in response, the emotional toll of everything releasing like a broken dam. I hated that I wasn’t strong enough to hold it all in, to keep Orson from being involved.

“Shiloh.” Both of his strong arms went around me, pressing me flush to his chest. “We have to tell Derric.”

“No!” I lifted my head. Any other time, I never would have let him see my puffy, red crying face, but this was too important. “He’ll burn the entire territory if anyone finds out. It’s bad enough that you know, but Howling Death cannot retaliate. People will die.”

“Dragons can’t be allowed to just waltz into our territory and make threats,” Orson snarled back. “They can’t force people to make potions for…what, exactly? What does the potion do, Shiloh?”

I returned my forehead to his chest, shaking my head back and forth. I wished I could rewind time, go back to yesterday or even the day before. Pizza, beer, and flirting in my empty bar, when Orson was none the wiser and this secret was my burden alone to bear. Back then, I at least wholeheartedly believed I was keeping Vargmore safe.

Now, I couldn’t help but think I’d doomed my home and all the people in it.

“Shiloh, please.” Orson ran his hands up and down in broad sweeps over my back. “Talk to me. Don’t shut me out. Don’t deal with this alone.”

He placed a kiss on the top of my head and pulled me in tighter, which dragged another ugly sob out of my throat. I was so damn tired of dealing with this all on my own, but the risk was not worth it. These new sides of him that I was just discovering—the sweetness and vulnerability, his dorky but adorable sense of humor, none of this would last if that dragon came through on his threats.

“You know why that dragon came to you?” Orson’s chest vibrated against my forehead. “Because he was too chickenshit to confront Howling Death directly. He targeted a lone witch because being underhanded and sneaky gave him an advantage. Against a whole pack, he’d have no chance. He’s a coward, Shiloh. So let me and my pack chase that overgrown lizard away for good.”

Orson brought his head down, nuzzling his cheek against my temple. “Let me prove myself as a worthy protector for my mate.”

My head jerked up and I backed away as if he’d shoved me, a sudden jolt of energy making me stumble. “What…did you say?”

Chapter 17

Shiloh

Orson’s expression was raw, open, and hiding nothing at all. He believed what he’d said wholeheartedly and was laying it all out on the line.

“My mate,” he repeated softly. “My wolf has known since the beginning. It’s just…taken the human side of me this long to come around, I guess.”

I opened my mouth to deny it but found myself physically incapable of saying the words. I wasn’t of his kind, but werewolf and witch pairings weren’t that unusual. Moon magic was said to have been guided by fate, and right now? I couldn’t help but feel like fate had sent me someone when I needed them most.

Not just someone but this werewolf in particular. A wolf I thought I hated but could never stop thinking about.

“The night of the full moon,” I whispered. “It was you that I needed. Not just any person, but you specifically.”

Orson nodded tentatively, his throat bobbing with a swallow. “I followed your scent after my run with the pack. No one else could smell it as strongly. It was like you were calling to me.”

A moan left my mouth as my skin heated, my core hollowing out as if on command. Orson’s nostrils flared, his lips curling in a possessive growl. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

“Doing what?”

“Your scent is…blooming. Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s making me…”

He turned to adjust himself, but I grabbed his forearm. “Orson.”

“Shiloh?” The way he said my name, on a tight breath like he was already inside me, sent the pulse between my legs pounding. He waited, frozen, like what I was about to say might shatter him.

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