Page 8 of Taken By the Pack

No.

I dig my nails into my palm, forcing myself to stay put. “What’s your name?”

“Grace,” she whispers, and her voice alone sends a jolt through me. She’s pressing her thighs together, and the air is so thick with her arousal that I can almost taste it. My jaw clenches.

“Why are you here, Grace?” My voice comes out rougher than I intended, and she flinches.

“The storm,” she says, her words tumbling over each other. “My car—it ran out of gas. I couldn’t—” She swallows hard. “I thought I could make it, but?—”

I shake my head, cutting her off. “You should’ve stayed in the car.”

“I couldn’t,” she says, voice breaking again. “I—I’m in heat.”

No shit. Every goddamn inch of me knows that.

“I wasn’t safe out there,” she whispers.

“You’re not safe here either, Grace.”

She sways, knees buckling slightly, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moving toward her. I don’t even know this woman. I shouldn’t care.

But the sight of her, so small and desperate—it’s digging under my skin, breaking through years of carefully built walls.

She notices me staring, her face flushing deeper. “I just—I thought?—”

She doesn’t finish, her words dissolving into a soft sound that makes my stomach twist.

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. “You’re not staying here.”

“Please,” she whispers, eyes locking on mine. “Just for a bit. I’ll leave as soon as?—”

Her legs give out, and she collapses onto her knees.

“Fuck,” I grunt, crossing the room in two strides before I can stop myself.

I hover over her, my hands balled into fists at my sides. I shouldn’t touch her. Ican’ttouch her. Not when every part of me is screaming to do so much more.

“You’re gonna pass out if you don’t stop pushing yourself.” It comes out sounding harsh, but she just looks up at me, her eyes glazed with a mix of pain and need.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she murmurs, her head tilting forward.

“Shit.” I rake a hand over my face, trying to block out her scent. It’s impossible. It’s everywhere. “You need to take a shower. Get rid of the chill.”And maybe the smell.

Her gaze flickers, hesitant, before she nods. “Okay.”

I gesture toward the stairs. “Bathroom’s upstairs. First door on the left.”

She doesn’t move. She just stares at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m real.

“Now!” I snap, sharper than I mean to.

She flinches but forces herself to stand, her movements shaky and slow.

I follow her to the stairs, keeping my distance even though every muscle in my body is urging me to get closer.

She starts climbing, one step at a time, her hand gripping the railing like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

The dress clings to her legs as she moves, the fabric damp and translucent. I force myself to look away.

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