Page 9 of Bones

If Xavius was in our town, we’d have found him already. Not just because of how small the town is, but because we’ve had a few of the wolf shifters on his scent. It’s like he vanished into thin air when I knocked Sloan out and the backlash of power went out in a wave around us. Like Reaper, though, I know we aren’t lucky enough for that to have happened.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” I tell him. “I’ll take her to the good doc’s office in the morning, then I’ll let you know if we head back here or to the clubhouse. You got a preference?”

“Nope, so long as you can keep your hands off her. Keep me updated.” Reaper hangs up and before I head back inside, I shoot a message off to the probie’s group chat telling them to ride my bike over to swap it with Blaze’s truck. As an afterthought, I add on to bring a few pizzas from Giovani’s and a couple growlers from our brewery.

The confirmation is almost immediate, making me grin. Fuck it feels good to have probies who are ready to drop everything and be an errand boy, all in the name of earning their Knights of Hades patch.

I head back in, closing the door loud enough to let Sloan know I’m back. She isn’t in the living area, but the bathroom door is open and my room’s door is closed now. I’d left her some clothes to borrow, though they’ll be huge on her no doubt. She’s taller than most human chicks, even without heels on, and still she only barely comes up to my chest.

I slide off my leather cut and hang it on the hook by the front door, appreciating the Knights of Hades patch dominating the back. The symbol of our survival, of a pack of demons who made our own damn family and took our fates in our own hands. We fought our way out of hell and lived.

A door opening makes me turn, about to tell Sloan about the pizza and beer. Except when my eyes land on her, I’m fucking struck stupid. She’s frozen, too, her blue-green marbled eyes wide as she’s caught between flight or fight. Her damp hair is swept up on top of her head and she’s wearing one of my older t-shirts. It’s even bigger on her than I expected. The navy shirt’sneck dips, exposing a shadow above her collar bone that I ache to explore with my tongue. The worn cotton drapes over her body, hiding most of her slender curves but nothing can hide the peaks of her breasts, her nipples hardening under my gaze. Still, those tempting buds aren’t powerful enough to prevent me from following the material lower and lower, until it ends a few inches above her knees.

Knees I suddenly want to push apart and discover what else she’s hiding under my shirt.

“Bones?”

I yank my attention away and stride to the fridge, hiding my face as I open it and reach for another cold water bottle. “I’ve got pizza and beer on the way. Let me know what else you want and I’ll have one of the guys swing it by. We’re staying here for the night.”

“Oh, okay,” she answers, her voice shrinking down to the small, pleasing tone I’ve come to realize is her defense mechanism.

Fuck, I hate myself. Steeling myself, I close the fridge door and face her. She’s got her arms wrapped around her chest and I make every effort not to enjoy what the pose does to her breasts in my shirt. If I thought she was gorgeous before, she’s ruinous in my clothes. I’ve got the urge to destroy all of her borrowed clothes and dress her exclusively in mine, to cover her in my scent. Until she and everyone else knows who she belongs to.

Mine. Sloan is mine.

No, she can’t be mine.

“Why don’t you go pick something out to watch?” I jerk my head towards the couch. I twist open the water bottle and tossthe opaque cap onto the counter with a clack. I down the water, hoping the cold drink will help me get a better grasp on my thoughts. It’s empty in seconds and my thoughts are still traitorous. When I look over, though, Sloan must have taken pity on me because she’s on the couch pulling a throw blanket Lucy forced on me over her long, toned legs.

Except now my fingers are itching with the need to dig my camera out of my bedroom closet and capture her innocent beauty. When was the last time I wanted to take photos of someone and not the world around me?

She’s looking at the remote with a frown, before clicking a button, and shooting me a look. “What do you want to watch?”

I wave the empty bottle before tossing it. “Whatever you want. I don’t really give a fuck. I’ll be right back.”

I drop the half-crushed water bottle in the recycling and beeline to the bedroom as Sloan turns her attention to the massive TV mounted to the wall. I’ll grab one of my laptops and maybe I can distract myself with my Cerberus Securities work. Except when I walk into my room, my eyes go right to Sloan’s pile of folded clothes and the bright, white lacy material peeking out from under her red shirt. Next to the pile are the shorts I’d offered Sloan. I drop my head back, fighting the groan in my chest as my dick hardens. Sloan is out there, wrapped up in my shirt and nothing else.

If I bothered with prayer, I’d beg the gods for forgiveness. Because clearly having a panty-less Sloan on my couch is a punishment from the universe.

If she was any other chick, there’d be no problem with me fucking her to get this craven desire out of my system. Except that’s not even up for consideration.

Gritting my teeth, I head to the closet and yank out one of my laptop cases. Work. I need to focus on work.

Because I really don’t know how long I can do this.

6

SLOAN

Adull pain throbs behind my left eyebrow, my eyes burn, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this drained. I want to curl up on this too comfortable couch and sleep for the rest of the day. My meeting with Dr. Grayback isn’t done, though. I reach over and tug yet another tissue from the box. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve used and I’d feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for the older woman across from me.

Dr. Anna Leigh Grayback is one of those women who has been a matriarch all her life. The moment I’d entered her office I’d felt her power and the aura of strength surrounding her. She has the aura of a woman who has weathered many storms and has come out victorious. Her face is lined with age, but she holds herself with the same grace as an auburn haired Helen Mirren. She’s mastered the maternal presence that makes you want to lay your burdens at her feet, while balancing it with a low tolerance of bullshit.

She honestly reminds me of my mother, someone I haven’t spoken to since I ran away when I was 17 thinking I was in lovewith Paul, the almost thirty year old man who brought me into the Justicars.

“You need to think about what you really want,” Anna Leigh, as she insisted I call her at the beginning, says as she uses her pen to mark her place when she closes her brown journal before setting it on the low table beside her wingback chair. Teenage me would be envious of the chair, since I’d always loved the feeling of curling up with a good book in one. Anna Leigh looks back at me, crossing one knee over the other and lacing her fingers together over them.

I take a deep breath, letting it slowly, and press the fresh tissue against my eyes to capture the fresh tears. I’ve cried in front of someone more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last decade.

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