Page 95 of Taken By The Wolves
But what if it isn’t? What if those scouts saw something real.
What if the creature Cami feared was in the skies over Blackwood? What if it was never Gregory who summoned it… but something else? Something like Aura’s magic?
My skin prickles beneath my fur. My wounds may be healed, but the past still clings to my bones. I shake it off. Not today.
Today, I turn away from the ghost of Aura and the imagined wings in the sky.
Today, I run back to my family. To the warmth of Scarlet’s hands. To the wild spirit of Ahya. To the babies waiting to be born and the legacy we’ll build with love.
Today, I run home.
***
The scent of the cabin reaches me before it comes into view. Smoke and pine, honey and jasmine from Scarlet’s hair, the faint sweetness of Ahya’s skin, the steady scent of my brothers. I crest the last ridge and find Scarlet waiting, seated on the front step, her hair loose around her shoulders, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
She stands when she notices me, barefoot in the dirt, and walks toward me with her palm outstretched and a fond smile playing at her pretty lips.
I don’t shift. I don’t want to yet.
I press my muzzle into her palm, and she gasps, then smiles, her other hand sliding through the fur behind my ear, her fingers small and warm.
“Reed,” she whispers.
I nuzzle into her neck, breathing her in, licking the edge of her jaw where her pulse beats fast. She laughs softly and presses her forehead to mine.
“You’re beautiful like this,” she murmurs. “All soft fur and soft eyes.Mine.”
I let her hold me, wrapping her arms around my furry neck, grounding me in a way nothing else ever has. When I finally shift, I do it slowly, letting my body melt back into human form, still crouched in front of her, bare and vulnerable.
I rise to my feet and pull her against me, wrapping my arms around her and tucking her close. She’s warm and smells like home, and I bury my face in her hair, inhaling deeply as I let the rhythm of her body pull the tension from my shoulders.
Her hands move over my back, stroking gently, lingering on the ridges of old wounds and new scars.
“Come inside, baby,” she whispers. “It’s cold.”
***
Nixon and Finn murmur over papers strewn across the table. We’re expanding the business, and Finn is pushing to make furniture production a greater part of our business. He’s worked on plans with Scarlet that look solid. Now, he has to convince Nixon.
They both glance up, their eyes softening as they take in Scarlet, bundled up in the thick, red, oversized cardigan she practically lives in now, her cheeks pink from the cold and her boots dusted in frost. Their posture relaxes. Hell, I feel it, too. The bone-deep satisfaction of having a mate has changed us all. She doesn’t have to ask for anything. We’d give it all to her before the thought even leaves her lips.
I yank my sweater off the back of a chair and pull it over my head. “Colder than a witch’s tit out there.”
Scarlet snorts, eyes gleaming. “How many witches’ tits have you fondled, exactly?”
I grin. “Do you want the honest answer or the one that keeps the mystery alive?”
She lifts her hands, laughing. “Forget I asked. Between the shifters, mystics, and actual wolf-bear-babies in this house, I’m maxed out on supernatural weirdness. Let’s not add witches to the mix.”
I stalk toward her, a slow prowl, sliding my arms around her waist. “Good. Because the only tits I want to fondle…” I cup her breast through the fabric, my thumb teasing her nipple until it pebbles beneath my touch and she gasps against my throat, “are yours.”
Her hands go to my hips, and she raises a brow. “You’re not wearing pants.”
“All the better to fuck you,” I murmur, pressing my hard length against her stomach.
Scarlet’s laugh is half-moan now, her nails dragging lightly up my spine. She’s always been this way; fire and humor, sweetness and hunger. Every time I touch her, it’s like discovering her all over again.
Nixon groans from the table, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Can we please get through one day without the big bad wolf references?”
