Page 29 of Tamed Wolf

He turns me around so I’m facing him. “I don’t know half of what’s gone down with you and those asshole wolves of yours, but know that things are going to be different now. You’ve got us as friends, and we’ll figure it out one day at a time, okay? You don’t ever have to go back there if you don’t want to. I won’t keep you from working if you actually want to dance there, but…I’m kind of hoping you stay away so they can’t control you anymore. We’re not going to tell you what to do, though. Our help isn’t conditional.”

There are those damn tears again. “Why? Why let me into your home, around your child, when you know nothing about me? Why the hell am I so special? You could have dropped me at the shelter, you know. I would have been fine there. Maybe it was just too late at night? You can take me to the bus shelter tomorrow, how about that? Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

There’s a growl behind me that has me spinning around, eyes wide. “No. You’re not going to the shelter because you’re really fucking wanted. You can’t be rejected if there’s an offer for you.” Blake sinks to his knees and bares his neck. “Be our mate. Be under our protection. Let us give you everything you deserve.”

I sidestep them all, needing air. “One marriage proposal in 24 hours is funny, two looks a bit desperate,” I try and joke. “I appreciate all this, more than you know, but respectfully, we know nothing about each other. You don’t have to offer me anything to change my life. I would never even entertain the idea of shackling you to me, because you guys… it doesn’t matter. The shelter’s not so bad. Where should I sleep? You sure I can’t take the couch?”

Blake stays on his knees, staring me down, daring me to not take him 100% seriously.

“Guess you made quite the impression on us earlier,” Brooks jokes.

“Let’s get you to bed, you’ve got to be exhausted. Can you sleep in tomorrow? Do you have to be anywhere?”

I wince. “Depends on if we’re giving into my exes’ demands or not.”

“You’ve nowhere to fucking be then,” Blake says as he stands and grabs me in one movement, hauling me down the hall to a bedroom that definitely doesn’t smell like eucalyptus.

It’s got to be his room, and it smells softer, like sage or something.

“Let’s go to bed.”

He turns out the light without dropping me and shifts me to one ridiculously buff arm so he can pull back the blankets, then he deposits me gently and scoots in behind me, resting a hand on my hip before fluffing up the pillow under my head. “Don’t ask to sleep out there, my wolf is fucking flipping out that you’re here. He thinks you’re his.”

“So that’s an excuse to be bossy and tell me what’s going to happen without asking me what I want?” Fuck. Why did I just say that? I know better than to get lippy. I curl up a bit, bracing myself. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. You can sleep here, of course. It’s your bed. Sleep.”

I stay tense, but nothing ever happens except a big exhale that sounds shaky, and then he brushes a light kiss to my shoulder and the bed gets cold. It sounds as if he’s making a bed on the floor. “Night, angel.”

Chapter Twelve

Brooks, Now

I’m fuckingwired.

When Rowan started talking nonsense to himself upon waking, I listened like I always do for a few minutes, enjoying his voice and the little inflections he’s already learning to put into it, then I couldn’t get out of bed fast enough when I remembered we have a house guest.

I know the little guy will need a fresh diaper before anything else happens, so I grab him and blow a few raspberries into his chubby neck, soaking in his giggles. It’s imperative that he’s entertained while I wrestle his dirty diaper off of him so that he doesn’t fight me too much, so I’m all weird noises and goofy faces. Once he’s clean and air dried, it’s time to convince my son he wants a fresh diaper on.

Rowan’s always happiest when he’s naked, but that’s terrifying with the amount of waste products his tiny body produces, so we’re definitely not doing that.

“Bet you’re hungry, baby. What are we thinking for breakfast? You want some apple oatmeal? Yeah, that sounds good today. Let’s see…let’s get you in your highchair and you can have a couple pieces of cereal to chase while I get your real food ready, ‘kay? Gods, you’re cute. Your hair’s a mess though, my dude. Maybe we should do something about that.”

Once he’s situated, I get my hands a tiny bit wet in the sink and rub my hands together to warm it up a bit before smoothing his bed head down. “There we go. So dapper. Let’s see how long you can go without absolutely decimating my kitchen floor, shall we? It feels like a good day for a personal record.”

I keep my eye on him while I get my coffee and his breakfast going, humming to myself a little bit.

Sometimes it hits me how fucking lucky we got to have this kid all to ourselves, but then I’ll feel bad for maybe 2.5 seconds because that means his mom is gone, but honestly, good riddance. I’m not always a proponent for the death penalty, but the amount of wreckage that woman left in the wake of her mad science experiments absolutely warranted it. I’m thankful that we don’t have to worry about her trying to insert herself into Rowan’s life.

“And that’s enough of those morbid thoughts. I’m thinking daddies one through three aren’t working much today. What do you think we should do, hmm? Oh, we’ve got a friend for you to meet. She’s awfully pretty, but hands off, ‘kay? We might try and make her your new mommy.”

I say this mostly joking, because I get the feeling Lark isn’t in the best place for a relationship and I have no idea if she’s even interested in us at all, but I’m still remembering the way she looked moving above me last night at the club and I fancy myself in love with her at least a little bit.

Rowan takes this opportunity to blow raspberries, one of his myriads of talents, but unfortunately his lips are covered in oatmeal, so it lands all over my face. I make a weird choking noise and then he’s laughing at me, so I turn it into a game.

Each time I act surprised by the mess on my face he laughs harder and harder until I’m sure he’s barely breathing, so I reluctantly get up to grab a washcloth and clean my face, bringing it with me to wipe down his table the first of many times, and then he decides to go absolutely savage and grab a whole fistful of the oatmeal I left too close to his pudgy hands and starts slapping the table and splattering it everywhere.

“Truly, that was a ten out of ten in the mess factor, Rowan. Very impressive.”

I give up on myself and end up just whipping my cereal-covered shirt off and balling it up, tossing it in the general direction of the laundry room. “Well done. Now I have to make you more food. If you wanted me to hang out with you longer, you could have just said that, dude.”

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