Page 64 of Campfires & Canines
She clears her throat. "Yeah, I met him at the coffee shop in town."
I'm growling, low in the back of my throat, anger bubbling up. My possessive need to protect her rears up, overwhelming me.
"He does classwork there, I guess," she explains, her voice rising. "He was nice. Welcomed me to town, gave me his number."
"That fucker." My vision spots for a second.
I don't think he knew who-"
"If he ever touches you, I will kill him," I interrupt her. She has to understand, I can't tolerate an enemy anywhere near her.
Her eyes widen. "Did you just threaten murder?" she questions.
Would I murder someone who tried to hurt her? Absolutely. Just the thought makes my heart slam into my chest.
"Look, I need to go check in with the Alpha." I bristle, walking past her. I have to get outside, out of this small space. I read it in herface –he did touch her. They spoke, he probably flirted. I don't want her to witness the rage this triggers in me.
“Slate!” she splutters.
“Hazel, I need a second,” I say, closing my eyes. I’m not going to speak to her unkindly despite the fact I want to snarl. It’s almost impossible to string words together. “My emotions are a bit out of control today with what we did last night. It’s an instinct thing. I need to cool off and talk to Heath.”
“Okay.” Her voice is tiny. I am an asshole.
I pull open the door. "I'll make sure someone is outside if you need anything. I'll be back soon."
I slam the door shut and suck in a breath. It's a struggle to not shift into my wolf right there on the steps.
Onyx stands outside. His smile vanishes. "You okay, dude?"
"Keep her safe," I demand, stalking off to find Heath. I knew the scent on her two nights ago, the night the rogue wolves attacked, was familiar. I should have realized.
The pieces start to fall into place. My instinctual anger is justified.
That piece of shit met her. He knew about her. He would have smelled our pack on her skin. He tried to sentence her to death.
I'm shaking. I steady myself, attuning to my pack. Their steady presence takes the edge off. But I need to report to my Alpha, right now.
11. Heartache & Helplessness
Hazel
Slate isn't back quickly.
Worry and then irritation slowly builds in me. I settle myself by snooping. Slate is surprisingly organized. Nothing tucked in random drawers, nothing in the back of his closet.
I find a few photos on his bookshelves. Young Onyx, Cedar, and Slate laugh at the camera. Slate with a man who must be his father with lighter hair but the same brooding eyes.
After a while, I head to the bathroom and peel up the edge of my bandage. The bleeding has stopped and now a collection of thin scabs form an oval across my shoulder. I tenderly touch them, relieved it's lookingbetter.
I avoid the bed, still more than a little sexually frustrated. Laying across the couch, my unoccupied mind spins. All of Slate's little hesitations. The way he stopped things from going further physically. His dramatic reaction to our discussion about his mother and half-brother.
I have no idea how he feels about anything for sure. His words of devotion begin to sound hollow the more times I replay them in my memory.
I huff and stand again. I need to talk to him. Or a friend. The best choice would be my therapist, although I’ll need to spin this a bit. She will be concerned if I start going on about werewolves and mates.
I dress properly with my bra from the night before, tucking his oversized t-shirt into my jeans.
My therapist returns my text almost immediately. She’ll be available in about thirty minutes.
