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Click-clack nails on marble.
One, two, three, four.
“Cold,” I whisper, clinging tighter to Drago’s warmth.
One, two, three…
I’m in a shower, sitting, hot water needling my skin, feet aching. But it’s warm and nice. I watch the blood and dirt spiral down the drain.
When the water runs clear, Drago noses the lever, shutting off the spray. I sit there, numb, but it’s not long before he’s pushing his nose into my palm, trying to give me the towel in his teeth.
“Thank you.” My voice is thin and fragile, and not at all like mine. I take the towel and dry off. When I’m done, Drago nods upward and I stand, bracing against the marble wall of the shower. He comes behind me and clips me again, so I fall onto his back. I hold on to his neck as he carries me to the bed.
I crawl in, exhausted and hollow.
Snagging the covers with his teeth, Drago pulls them over me, and when he’s satisfied with his work, he hops in the bed and rests his colossal head across the top of my thighs. The weight is comforting, as is his watchful gaze glued to the door.
I don’t think I fall asleep.
But I’m not awake either. Any time my mind conjures the scent or sound of those wolves and what almost happened, I count.
My breath, Drago’s, the ticking of the old fashioned alarm clock.
Counting is good.
It’s grounding, reminding me not to get caught up in the replay.
The next time I glance out the window, all the shadows are different. The moon is lower in the sky. And voices draw my attention from outside the bedroom.
I don’t let myself fully focus on them. Instead, I sink deeper into the plush linens and enjoy the weight of Drago’s blue-black muzzle across me.
I take a breath and glance at him. His gaze is still fixed on the door, ears twitching with each sound outside it.
And then I have no choice but to hear it.
The voices filter in fully.
Rafe’s first. “Look, I don’t give a good goddamn if you’ve excommunicated them or not. They were part of your pack, which means you created a pack that thinks it’s acceptable to abuse Omegas.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I didn’t want to hear this.
“Not everyone does things the way you backwoods wolves do,Alpha.” I didn’t recognize the voice, but the way he snarled out the word “alpha” lets me know I don’t want to know him.
I’m just glad to know the alpha responsible for the wolves who attacked me wasn’t Jaxson.
I glue my eyes to the ceiling and the concentric circles of carved molding I hadn’t bothered to notice before.
“Fancy,” I murmur to myself and count each circle. Then the individual rounded ridges on each piece. Some pieces are very ornate, stacking five or six, sometimes seven, different levels of molding together to make an extra wide, extra fancy statement.
“Watch your tone, Alpha. I’m here as a guest.” Rafe’s voice cuts through my concentration like a honed blade. “And as far as backwoods goes, I’m not the one treating members of my pack like second-class citizens. That’s all you.”
The other wolf growls before Jaxson’s voice cuts through it. “Get yourself together, Carl. You’re the only alpha still allowing the barbaric practice.”
“I value tradition! I value—”
The wolf doesn’t get another word in before the flat sound of fist on flesh cuts him off.
