Page 41 of To Hunt A Wolf
“Holy shit.”
Jadick Clemons is alive and well.
Shock is replaced by hope. The welling in my chest is overwhelming, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or punch something. Namely him.
“You’re alive,” I blurt.
“That’s a very astute observation.”
My shock dissolves into fury.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” I demand. “Why are you hiding out here when your pack’s fallen into the hands of your psychopath brother?”
“You must be Mac,” he says in a deep voice that doesn’t miss a beat, considering the accusations I’ve just spewed. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Shit.
The realization I’m not as stealthy as I thought comes three seconds before someone grabs me from behind and hauls me off my feet. Despite my attempt to run, I’m tossed over a very broad, very strong shoulder and held down by an arm that is muscled to perfection. An arm I’d lick if I had any less self-respect.
Levi.
His scent slams into me, and I realize belatedly the shock of seeing Jadick here has dulled my senses. I never even saw him coming.
Dammit.
“Put me down.” I try to sound tough, but when you’re slung over someone else’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, it’s hard to sound scary or intimidating.
To make up for it, I fight, kicking wildly until my toe lands solidly against the parts of him I accidentally sex-dream about at night sometimes.
“Ugh.” He grunts and almost drops me.
Almost.
But not quite. When he adjusts his grip, tighter than before, I know fighting isn’t going to work. Out of sheer desperation, I play the only card I have left.
I lick his arm, self-respect be damned.
“Did you just … lick me?
“Damn right.” I beat my fists against his back. “And there’s more where that came from.”
I’m pretty sure I hear Jadick snicker.
“She sounds like she means it,” he says.
Levi sighs. “Mac, I swear, you’re going to be the death of me.”
He sounds mildly irritated, which is nothing compared to how I feel about him leaving me in that hotel with Tripp—and then my mother.
Abandoning the licking, since it will only lead to me enjoying my current predicament, I try another tactic. With every ounce of momentum I have, I wrench myself sideways and succeed in falling off Levi’s shoulder. I land on the kitchen floor—right on my face. Probably should have thought that through.
The tile is cold and hard against my cheek, and I wince at the pain shooting through my cheekbone. When I pry myself up again, a pair of boots steps into view about six inches from my eyeballs. I follow them upward until I see Tripp glaring down at me. Beside him, Levi is still cupping himself in pain. Whoops.
Behind him, Jadick sits at the table, watching us all with an amused expression.
“When you said she fights dirty, you weren’t kidding,” Jadick says.
Levi glares at him, which is good because I don’t think I have it in me to do it myself right now. Tripp extends a hand to help me up, but I ignore it and climb to my feet, gritting my teeth at the pulsing pain in my face.
