Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine novel Chapter 36

I have no heightened senses without my wolf and yet as I approach my apartment and open the door, I’m immediately calm.

My body recognizes Jay’s presence before I see him.

He’s in the kitchen. Sitting at the table. Arms crossed. I can’t read his expression. And I’m not ready to talk about things.

“I, uh, I’ll get dinner started in a moment. I just need to shower first.”

Jason grabs hold of my hand. “You’re soaking wet and it isn’t raining.”

I bite my lip.

He reaches out gently and touches my shirt where it’s torn. “How did this happen?”

The question’s delivered in an even tone, but I know better. He’s furious.

I don’t say anything.

”Sister, did something happen to you today?"

I can’t meet his eyes. And I know if lie to him, I’ll destroy what trust there is between us.

I soundlessly try to move past him into the bathroom, but he catches my hand.

I wince.

Jason rubs the wound.

The dime-sized hole is swollen and bleeding.

Compliments of one well-placed stiletto heel and a hundred and twenty pounds of malice.

“What about this?” Jason asks. “Is this an occupational hazard from work too?”

I stare at the back of my right hand, at the spot where Maria stepped on today.

Jason stares fixedly at me. "Sister, if someone bullies you, you need to tell me.”

I will not embroil Jay in my mess.

For a moment my heart pounds hard, because the way Jay stares at me, it’s like he’s daring me to lie to him and I don’t want to hurt him by doing that.

But I can’t burden him with my drama.

“Just tell me and I will stand up for you,” he says.

“I know you will.”

And that’s the problem.

In that instant, I realize my time with Jay is limited.

Inevitably, this fight with my past will seep into this new life I’m trying to build for myself and when it does, it’ll endanger Jason too.

I pull my hand from his and escape to the bathroom.

I turn on the water so he won’t hear me crying.

When I join Jay back in the kitchen, I’m more in control of my emotions.

I bandaged my hand, dressed in warm clothes and dried my hair.

I plaster a bright smile on my face. “What do you think, pasta tonight? Or maybe a quiche?

“What I think is something happened today and you’re purposely not telling me about it.”

I sigh. “You’re right.

“And?”

I come closer to him until I stand right in front of him. Then I take his hands in mine. I can’t describe the sensation. There are prickles of awareness and heat spreading from our palms, but more than that, there’s a sense of rightness.

I squeeze his hands.

“I need you to trust me, brother. I want very much for my past to stay there. But it won’t always will. And I won’t let you fight battles we can’t win.”

“You can’t know that,” he says quietly.

“There’s no world in which you’re worth the risk.” I tug him into the kitchen. “Now, back to dinner…what will it be?”

I’m trying hard to hold it together. I’m a hairsbreadth away from losing it. That attack today…it was terrifying.

I thought prison had been bad, and I’d consoled myself with the knowledge that when I got out, I’d finally be safe.

But that was stupid on my behalf.