Page 38 of Rejected By the Winter Wolf

He doesn’t acknowledge me. Not that I thought he would. And all my squirming and shoving doesn’t do anything.

Jessamine rushes into the room and stops dead. She stares at us, and I raise my eyebrows. I can move my arms and head. I’m fairly certain my back is even more wrecked than it was earlier. And my reality is that I’m painfully vulnerable.

“Can you get him off?” Never thought I’d resort to pleading with the she-wolf, but here we are.

He lifts his head and growls at her, gnashing his teeth.

Her expression twists. “If you want me to look at her, I can. Unless you’re content to crush her to death.”

The snarl that comes out of him rumbles through his chest, vibrating down into mine. I’m still so fucking cold, but having him on top of me… if I forget who and what he is, it’s not so bad. He’s warm. I curl my fingers into his fur, and he exhales.

It’s surprising how soft his fur is.

Jessamine stays, watching the wolf with a furrowed brow. He puts his head back down and seems disinclined to acknowledge her again. I stare at the ceiling. My back is in agony, but I don’t say anything about it.

It seems like penance for accepting what’s happening.

We stay in position for too long. My skin slowly loses the frost, and I stop shivering. He’s hot, better than a raging fire, but it’s starting to get uncomfortable.

And he shows no signs of moving.

“How long are we going to stay like this?” I finally ask.

“Until he thinks you’re not hurt,” Jessamine answers.

“I’m fine.” I prod at Kian’s shoulder again. “Do you hear me, dog? I’m good. You can get off me now.”

He doesn’t move.

Fucker.

I squirm and shove at him until the wolf raises his head again. His eyes bore into mine, and I try very hard not to focus on the blood around his mouth. When his mouth opens, his tongue lolling out in some version of a dog smile, my stomach twists. I can smell the blood and his hot breath. His teeth are too close to my throat.

If he doesn’t get off me, I’m going to hyperventilate.

Actually, the way he’s staring makes me think he’s trying to mind-speak. Do wolves communicate that way? Is that a thing? I mean, it must be. In the wild, real wolves probably operate solely on vocals and body language. I don’t know—I’ve never asked a real wolf. But I’ve never asked a shifter either. It seems like one of those closely guarded secrets. Their packs are secretive, in general. Way worse than witch covens.

“Get up or I will curse you into oblivion,” I whisper. “As soon as you let your guard down, I’ll ruin you.”

Kian’s weight shifts. And then he shifts.

I try not to let that startle me, but it’s still odd to go from looking at a giant white wolf, who seems eager to not kill me, to a very angry, very naked Kian crouched over me.

Lord help us.

I keep my eyes above his waist. Which isn’t easy, because all his muscles seem to be guiding my eyes down…

“Alpha,” Jessamine starts.

“Leave us, sister.” His voice is growly, what I’d imagine his wolf might sound like.

Sister. The conversation from when I first woke up comes back. I should’ve recognized her voice. Their resemblance makes sense, as does the way she’s protective of him. I’m sure the whole pack is protective of him. They’re all probably aware of my presence and hate that, too. But he also trusts her not to kill me unless he commands it.

She vanishes down the hall without a backward glance.

“A demon in my own home.” He grips my wrists and hauls me upright along with him, backing me against the wall. Ignoring my injuries and his nakedness. “And you threaten to curse me… into oblivion? Tell me, witch, what would that look like? Because it seems like we’re both already cursed.”

I glower, yanking at my wrists. His grip is impossibly strong. His fingernails lengthen, digging into my skin.