Page 21 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

Mary stood in the corridor wearing a hotel robe over a black dress, bare legs, damp hair, and wild eyes. One hand clutched her key card, and the other held a black zip pouch under her arm. She glanced at the pouch. “Reinforcements.”

Behind her, dragging along the carpet like the tail of some defeated royal procession, was the blanket from her bed.

She followed my gaze.

“It came with me,” she said.

“Did it?”

“Don’t start. It’s been a complicated night. I have no nest, no nice alpha things…” She swallowed. “Do you know how hard this is?”

“I can understand. Bring in your blanket, though I’m sure it is the same one that is on the beds inside.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you’re about to be smug, I can go back to my room and die.”

“Get inside.” I held back from calling her a brat.

“Rude.”

“Are you going to be a good girl, Mary? Or do I need to spank you?”

Her eyes widened and the corner of her mouth moved, but a cramp hit before the smile finished. She folded around it, one hand flying to the doorframe. Her scent surged so hard my vision tightened at the edges.

I took one step forward.

Hudson’s voice cut softly behind me. “Mary?”

That stopped me better than a hand would have.

Mary dragged in a breath and lifted her head. Her pupils were blown wide, blue nearly swallowed by black. Sweat shone at her hairline.

“I’m still accepting other names,” she said. “Mary seems to have gone badly for me.”

“Come here,” Hudson said, picking her up and holding her in his arms. The blanket followed her.

I shut the door and engaged the privacy latch, then stopped with my hand still on the metal. The lock felt louder than it should have. Necessary, yes. Protective, yes. Also a line between her and the corridor, and I wanted no line in that room to feel like a trap.

“The door’s locked,” I said. “If you want it unlocked, say so. But I think this is the wiser decision.”

Mary glanced back. For one second, the sharpness left her face. “Locked is good.”

Hudson walked into his bedroom and placed Mary on the bed. “You can leave whenever you want.”

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

She considered him. “You’re very calm.”

“I’m not.” He held her gaze with that controlled steadiness of his, the one people often mistook for coldness until they were close enough to see the effort underneath. “But you need us calm, so we’ll be.”

Mary looked away first. Her gaze landed on the floor beside the bed. Mary stared at Hudson’s tie that lay there.

Then she crossed the room, bent with surprising speed for someone in visible pain, picked the tie, sniffed it and sighed. She looked around, at me, then my sweater, walked toward me and buried her face in it.

“Oh,” she said against the wool.

The sound nearly ruined me.