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He leans onto the table, and, I swear, he flutters his eyelashes. “Didn’t realise it was a competition.”
“Then you’re foolish and a cheater.”
He laughs now, no longer disguising his humour. I pout, crossing my arms as I gaze up at him. “I tried.”
“You tried very hard, princess,” he says, nodding seriously. “Let me help?”
“If you must.”
He rounds the counter and stands behind me, placing the palm of his hands to the back of mine. He puts a little bit of pressure on mine as he starts to help me knead the dough.
It’s strangely intimate, but I love the feel of him behind me.
“Perfect,” he murmurs after a few moments.
“You were, yes,” I reply, twisting around so that I’m now facing him, caged in against the table, unlike before where we were pressed against the wall.
The edge of the table presses into the middle of my back, but I don’t care as Topher’s mouth descends on mine. Our tongues battle for dominance, my grip on his shirt holding him close to me.
The door bangs open, disrupting Topher and I, and I dart back from him with a nervous look. That was a very aggressive entrance. My heart is pounding, and not with arousal like it was only seconds ago.
“Calm. It’s just—” he murmurs before his head snaps over to the doorway, and he charges away from me with a deep growl.
“What’s going on?” I shout just as Phoebe starts to cry. Of course, we woke her.
I’m hot on Topher’s heels but come to a sudden stop as I see a bleeding, shirtless man pushing at Topher, snarling as he tries to get past him. Phoebe is crying in her crib, and I’m frozen.
One of the Wolfe brothers—one of my mates—is hurt. Seb is shirtless, blood dripping down his chest, as he glares and glowers at his older brother.
“Sit the fuck down,” Topher hisses, keeping his voice low. “You’re hurt, and I need to get to our—to Phoebe. She’s just woken up, and she’s terrified.”
“What is going on?” I whisper, my face likely pale. I move over to where the men are, and Topher gives me a nod as he murmurs an encouraging demand to sit down. I can’t understand why he’s so calm when his brother is bleeding out.
“You sort him out, I’ve got her,” he mutters, giving his brother a dirty look. “Seb’s decided to get himself injured in the pursuit of our cousin and is throwing a fit because of it.”
Tears well up in my eyes as I drop down onto the sofa next to him. Seb’s shirt is missing, and he’s got a very large scratch across his collarbone. There’s blood dripping down his chest, but there seems like a lot compared to the small wound.
It’s quite thin—maybe a centimetre and a half—but pretty deep, and the skin around it is red. Or at least, some of it is. The rest is blocked by blood, and it makes it too hard to tell.
Seb’s face is scrunched up in pain as he glares at Topher. Phoebe settles in Topher’s arms, taking that weight off my shoulders, and I turn back to Seb.
“I don’t—” I reach over, scared to touch but desperate to do so. His skin looks so angry, and I don’t know what we should do.
Should we call a doctor? A wolf doctor?
Will this… is it something that can heal on its own?
“Maia,” Kane chokes out, his bright green eyes on me as sadness fills his face. “I’m so sorry, little love. I should’ve been faster.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I can’t speak louder than this whisper, my heart pounding as I take in the gash. I don’t know if he’s hurt anywhere else. His face is blemish free, but I’m tempted to tug his jeans off and get a better look at his thighs.
Could he have been bitten? His jeans are dirty but not ripped. That’s got to be a good sign, right?
I sit on my hands, trying to hide the trembling, but also to give them some warmth. But I don’t think I’m going to settle until the blood is all gone and Seb is okay.
“I let him get away,” Kane snarls, and I flinch. Phoebe stirs, but Topher has her, offering soothing words. “I fucking had him?—”
“Language,” Topher hisses before smiling down at Phoebe. “He’s so silly, isn’t he, little wolf? Silly Seb.”
