Page 32 of Claimed

I’m worried about what could happen to everyone who’s vulnerable. I wish Greyson scented me as his mate before Ifollowed Wyatt’s orders. If only I hadn’t hidden my scent. What if he’d scented me in the diner that day? I wish I could undo the damage I’ve already done here. I wish I’d gone to them and told them about my brother and asked for their assistance. If only I’d known then what I know now. Hindsight tends to be 20/20, I guess.

Speaking of damage, I move into the bathroom worrying about the damage that might be happening now at home if Wyatt loses his temper at my disappearance and takes it out on everyone I’ve tried so hard to protect.

***

My jaw drops when I see the vast, modern kitchen. I didn’t think it was possible for this home to wow me more than I’d already been wowed, but the best was saved for last because this kitchen is a dream I never even dared to dream.

If this somehow works out,thiscould be where I’ll get to cook. Cook meals for Greyson.

A smile tugs at my mouth as I take it all in and run my hand along the expansive white countertop. So much space to cook, to bake! There’s a backdrop of shiny gray tiled backsplash and the floor matches. In addition to expensive-looking and shiny counters around the perimeter of the kitchen, there’s a huge island that’s white on top, green on the sides with dual-toned wood and green stools in front of it. I spot a double oven on the wall and a six-burner stovetop on one counter. Brass pendant lights hang over the island and pot lighting dots the ceiling. The drawer and door pulls are brass and there’s a massive farmhouse sink with a golden tap that I can see pulls out to act as a spray nozzle. The fridge takes up most of a wall with brushed steel doors and brass handles.

It’s lovely. Absolutely lovely. There are some dirty dishes in the sink and the stovetop could use a scrubbing. The floor needs a sweep and wash, and I can’t wait to play in it. Clean it. Create in it. I could see myself spending most of my time in a dream kitchen like this. This kitchen alone is probably the size of my entire home back in Silver Hills. And I share that with Aunt Shea, Addy, Misty, and Halla.

“Oh my stars,” I whisper to Greyson because he’s watching me, taking in my reaction with what I think is happiness. “It’s like it’s out of a magazine.”

And then guilt settles because I’ve got so much to be concerned about right now. I shouldn’t be waxing on about this house.

“Yeah?” Greyson asks, smiling wide before turning his attention to the beeping announcement that the coffee is ready.

He pours coffee into two big, fabulous red ceramic mugs with a weaved knit-like pattern on them. “Glad you like it. I need to clean it, the whole place could use a cleaning, but I didn’t know I’d have company for the rest of my life starting yesterday or I’d have made sure it was perfect for you.”

Emotion clogs my throat. How sweet is he? I’m not used to this. I don’t quite know how to react to it. I resist the urge to offer to clean it. To ask if I can. Because I want to clean this house, do so while basking in fantasies about what could be. Yeah, that could certainly distract me from my problems.

“You like coffee?” he asks.

“Sure,” I manage, though it comes out sounding a little choked.

“Love seeing you in my shirt, babe,” he tells me and kisses me again.

“Thank you for letting me borrow it,” I reply, shyly.

“What’s mine is yours,” he responds. “I mean that.”

I force a swallow down. Because he seems like he means it. And it’s a pretty amazing thing to hear. Sadly, I bring absolutely nothing to the table with this mating. No. Wait. I do bring things to the table. Things no one wants. Problems. Bad genes. A psychotic and power-hungry brother who wants to take everything that’s his.

Greyson opens the fridge and freezer doors at the same time and asks, “What do you feel like eating?”

“I’m not fussy,” I reply softly, staring in with him.

I am pretty hungry. I didn’t eat anything yesterday.

“What’ve we got here?” He drums his fingers on the doors as he holds them open. “Half box of frozen waffles. Got some cereal in the pantry over there.” He gestures to a door I see leads to a small walk-in scullery or butler’s pantry. The door is open and the shelves are full of food.

I’ve never seen one of these in a home before. The walk-in pantry alone looks even nicer and larger than my kitchen back in Silver Hills. There’s a sink and a microwave in there and more counter space along with some kitchen appliance shelves that are mostly empty, but perfect for things like slow cookers, stand-up mixers, pressure cookers, and so on.

“Got some bread if you want toast. Wonder what time my family’s droppin’ off all the…”

He stops talking mid-sentence, his nostrils flaring. I take a whiff and catch the faint new scent in the air.

“Good timing. Meet some of the family just quickly.” He grabs my hand and moves us toward the door.

My heartrate jumps as I’m self-conscious about my appearance, among other things. I’m sure these people will know I shot their long-lost loved alpha yesterday.

“Gonna be okay, babe, trust me,” he assures, putting his arm around me comfortingly as he reaches for the doorknob. I want to believe that, but I can’t halt the rush of anxiety.

In addition to wondering what they think of me after what I’ve done, I’ve also got bedhead and I’m only wearing a light green on dark green checkerboard button-down shirt of Greyson’s that comes to my thighs, along with a pair of thick men’s wool work socks that go nearly to my knees.

My small wardrobe of clothes is quite abysmal, second-hand and ready for the trash pile, so I’ve always felt self-conscious around anyone outside the pack who, it felt like, looked at me like they could smell the stench of my poverty. I’m not unaccustomed to being nude in the company of other shifters, it has never bothered me as it was an equalizer of sorts, but wearing clothing has always felt like it put me at a disadvantage outside our pack where people were better dressed than me.

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