Page 23 of Broken Wolf Heart
The pleading in his voice alerts me that, despite his calm and steady heartbeat, he’s still freaking out.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, my voice rough and barely believable, even to me.
“You sure?” His voice rumbles through his chest, low and protective.
“No,” I admit, because he deserves honesty. “But I will be.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just holds me a little tighter. Lets me feel the truth in his silence: that I don’t have to be okay right now. Not as long as he’s here to carry the weight for both of us.
Eventually, my skin starts to itch. I rake my nails over what I realize with disgust is dried blood coating my face and throat. Grey watches my reaction with darkening eyes.
“Come on,” he says gently.
Before I can ask what he means to do, he moves, lifting me effortlessly, like I’m light as air. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding on in a way that, if I let go, my wolf might take me over again, and I’ll lose myself forever.
He wades into the stream with me still cradled to his chest. The water is deeper than it looks, and I gasp as it hits my legs, the cool temperature jolting to my senses. But Grey doesn’t stop, and I press myself against his warmth as the water laps against our hips, the current rushing gently around us. I expected to be chilled, but after a moment, my body adjusts, and it feels warm. Comforting. Like the earth itself is trying to soothe us.
Or maybe my flushed skin is still overheated from my run.Then again, maybe wolves just run hotter than humans. I can still feel her inside me like a foreign presence beneath my skin. She’s not nearly as controlling as before, but I am hyper-aware that she could take me over again in a second if she wanted to.
She seems happy enough now that Grey is touching me, though.
She likes him.
In fact, her emotions concerning him are clearer the longer I tune into her.
Mate.
The word jolts me back to reality. To standing in the stream naked with the man I just married.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Grey says, yanking my focus back to the way he’s sinking a little and submerging my body.
“What?” I look down at myself—at the dried blood streaking my chest and arms—and flinch. I don’t know whose it is, but I can still feel the way my claws sank into their flesh. The way my wolf reveled in the taste of violence. A predator. Never prey.
My stomach clenches, and I nearly pull away, but his hands tighten around me underwater.
“Let me,” he murmurs.
He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles before dipping it beneath the surface. Then, with slow reverence, he begins to wash the blood away with his calloused hands.
I watch him in silence, my throat tight.
The way he touches me—careful, patient, thorough—undoes me more than any words of reassurance ever could. He’s not afraid of what I did. He’s not disgusted. He’s still here, treating me like I’m some fragile goddess to be worshipped.
He rubs his hands over my arms, trailing his fingers over my skin as he brushes away all the imperfections. When he reaches my chest, he pauses, his hands hovering mid-air.
“Is this okay?” he asks, eyes locking on mine.
I nod.
His hand slides over the swell of my breasts. Down my sternum. Across my abdomen. The way he looks at my body is almost reverent, like he’s not cleaning blood off me as much as honoring something holy. Something broken but beautiful.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, suddenly embarrassed.
His eyes snap to mine. Fire burns in his dark gaze. “Yes, I do. This is what it’s like to be touched by someone whoseesyou, Lexi.”
At his words, I get a lump in my throat, and it takes everything in me not to shed another tear. Not trusting my voice, I nod and lower my eyes.
When the last of the blood is gone, he shifts his grip and walks us out of the stream. I’m not cold, but I shiver anyway. Naked and raw in every way a person can be.
