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“No…no, no, no.” My head twitches. “I loved my mom. I loved our life.”
“I know you loved her. She did the best she could under the circumstances, but it wasn’t a safe life. You must have been terrified.”
I swallow and look away. “There were times, especially when I was little, that scared me.”
“Of course, baby,” he says, his lips skimming over my forehead.
“The pack wasn’t the only thing we had to run from,” I admit in a small voice. “One night, a stranger tried to get into the car. I remember waking up to my mom revealing her claws and raking them down his arms when he broke in. I was still screaming when she was a mile away.” My head hits his chest. “I was nine. I had nightmares for months. She would sing to me before bed. She thought the music would chase the demons away. Sometimes it worked. Her voice was beautiful.”
“Tell me. What else?” he encourages, his hand caressing my back.
“I was twelve. My mom found a job at a bar. She worked really late nights, and I would have to stay out in the car. It was dark. She had to park in the back, and the lighting was dim. Sometimes, the owner would let me come in and sit in the office. He was really nice to us. I was reading on the couch. A regular stumbled in and saw me. He was drunk. I didn’t like him. My mom warned me to stay out of his sight. I developed early. I was already getting the attention I didn’t want.
“He had never come into the office. He said some horrible things. He was on top of me before I could do or say anything. He was human but so strong and big. He started pulling at my shirt. That’s when I found my voice. My mom came running in. She used her claws and teeth to take him down.”
“Did she kill him?” Elijah growls.
“I don’t know. We didn’t stick around. Mom grabbed her tips, and we ran again.” I lay my hands on his strong chest. “Always running,” I whisper into his shirt.
“No more,” he whispers back.
“I don’t like remembering the bad things,” I admit.
“None of us do,” he agrees.
“What do you not like remembering?” I ask.
“We aren’t going to get into that tonight.”
“Why not?”
“You’ve had enough for the day. That is going to be something we have to work up to.”
“You can tell me.” I tip my head back.
“I will. Not tonight.” He moves his hands to my hips. He must see the hurt on my face and sighs. “Do you want to know the real reason I like hugs? Physical touch?”
“Yes,” I say, my face softening.
“My mom used to give the best hugs. My brothers, too. It was offered freely and without motive. There wasn’t a reason or event—just because. Then one day, the affection was gone. I miss it,” he whispers. “The details of why, I will share later.” He clears his throat. “Did the dragons feed you?”
I don’t push it. “They did. You were gone all day.”
“Shit,” he mutters.
I frown, but then the smell of a shifter reaches me. More than one shifter. “Who is it?”
“Logan,” he says, eyes narrowing, “and it appears he brought guests.”
He pushes me away gently and flings the door.
Three lion shifters are standing on the porch. Two of them are set apart from the one in the doorway. He is tall, muscular, and holds himself stiffly. His blonde hair is so closely cropped to his head he’s almost bald. His face is hard but very handsome. Theother two look similar, except they have longer hair. All of them are wearing jeans and boots. They have to be family.
“A mate?”
“Yes,” Elijah says. “Where have you been? Who the fuck are they?”
“These are my brothers,” Logan says. “Lucas and Las.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.
