Page 8 of Mated to the Werewolves
I accept his help. There’s nothing else for me to do but trust that they won’t make a meal out of me. His warm fingers close around my hand, and he steadies me as I jump on the ground. I look up at Carter. He seems wary and more than a little tired.Snowflakes have settled on his thick black hair. He runs his fingers through it, making it stick up on one side.
I stifle a grin because nothing about this situation is funny. The reality is that I’ve been caught by monsters, and escape is impossible.
So I step past Carter and follow Troy to the house. He has shut off the engine and is striding toward the front porch. On the way, he picks up the scattered pieces of firewood that Sebastian dropped earlier and stacks them quickly by the entrance. Then he opens the door for me and lifts his eyebrows.
“Welcome to our home,” he rumbles.
As I walk up to the door, I take a moment to appreciate their house. From the outside, in the dark, I didn’t get a good look at it, but it’s a newish, large log cabin. The air wafting from the entryway is warm, and it feels so nice after the biting cold that I’m over the threshold before I can really make a decision about it. I trace the warmth to a large wood-burning stove with a glass front in the corner of the big living space. A fire crackles inside, creating a cozy atmosphere.
The living room, dining corner, and kitchen are all a part of this space with a tall ceiling and exposed wood beams. What surprises me isn’t the neat, clean order, which is at odds with what I imagined a bachelor pad to be like, but all the Christmas decorations. In the corner opposite from the stove stands a ten-foot real Christmas tree, decorated with adorably mismatched ornaments, and pine branches hang from the rafters, along with tinsel and mistletoe.
And wafting through the room is the unmistakable scent of gingerbread, spicy and sweet.
The front door closes behind me. I glance over my shoulder to find Troy and Carter in the entryway behind me, waiting—for what? For another freakout from me? For my judgment?
Embarrassed by their scrutiny, I drop my gaze to my boots and hiss at the sight of the clumped snow that’s already melting into small puddles in the warmth. I inch back, leaving wet footprints on the wooden floorboards.
“Sorry.” I hop on one foot, trying to tug off my left boot. “Just give me a mop, I’ll clean up after myself.”
I wobble, and Troy is there in a flash to catch me before I tip over to the side. His hands come to rest on my hips, the pressure barely there because I’m still wearing my puffy winter jacket. I think of squirming away from him, then decide to take the offered help instead and quickly pull off my boots.
“Thanks,” I throw over my shoulder.
Carter appears in front of me with an old towel in his hands, but instead of handing it to me, he crouches and wipes the floor himself, stealing glances at me. He and Troy have already toed off their boots by the door, and he motions for me to step farther into the room.
In my damp socks, I cross over to the Christmas tree, peering at the ornaments. It’s the safest thing in the room, and I feel like Christmas decorations say a lot about a person. Theirs are all different, or nearly, as if they’d cobbled together several old sets and added plenty of eclectic choices of their own, like a small carved wolf and a sparkling purple eggplant.
Movement to my right catches my attention. A door opens, and Sebastian comes through, his gaze finding me immediately. He has put on a t-shirt, an old college one that’s been washed so many times it’s no longer blue but that indeterminate shade of gray that speaks of years of use. His expression wary, he steps forward but halts several feet away from me.
“Hi,” he says, then clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m, uh, so sorry about earlier. I didn’t think— I mean, I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m Sebastian, by the way. But you probably know that already.”
He goes to reach forward as if he wants to offer me his hand, then snatches it back and tucks it into the pocket of his paint-splattered sweatpants. His fair, freckled skin lights up with a blush, and my heart melts at his awkwardness. He’s a head taller than me, and older by several years, most likely, and yet he’s blushing like a schoolboy and stuttering over his words.
I think he’s embarrassed over his wolf form. And I didn’t help things what with all the shrieking I’ve done.
Then I remember Troy’s words from earlier.We could never hurt you. Just as you couldn’t stab Carter or me.
A glimmer of recognition sparks inside me. I could no more reject Sebastian’s heartfelt apology than fly. So I do the only possible thing.
I step forward and extend my hand to him. “Hi, I’m Emma. Sorry I screamed. You, um, you scared me. A little.”
Sebastian blinks at me, his green eyes widening. “Oh, gods, no, I’m sorry.” He closes the distance between us and wraps my hand in both of his. “Of course you freaked out. I mean, who wouldn’t—” Then he stops and frowns down at my hands. “You’re freezing. Guys, she’s freezing.”
He turns to glower at Troy and Carter who are still standing near the front door, watching us with near identical expressions of worry…and hope?
“Why didn’t you make sure she was warm?” Sebastian barks at them as he tugs me toward the large, butterscotch-colored leather sofa. “What is wrong with you?”
He gently unwraps my damp winter jacket and nudges me until I sit, then immediately covers me with a soft cashmere blanket. With a disgruntled huff, he stalks into the kitchen and throws open a cabinet filled with coffee mugs.
“To be fair,” Troy says as he removes his jacket and hangs it by the door, “we did find her kneeling in the snow, trying to put the snow chains on her car.”
He comes to sit on my left side, throws his arm around my shoulders, and pulls me into his warmth. It’s delicious, and I let myself inhale his scent for just a minute.
“What?” Sebastian bangs a mug on the counter. “She could havediedin that storm.”
“She was very determined to stay away from us, too.” Carter sits on my other side, lifts my feet, and puts them in his lap. “So it’s not entirely our fault she’s a human popsicle.”
“Hey,” I protest weakly, even though neither of them is lying.
