He shoved his head under her hand, leaning into her touch with a groan.
She smiled. “I’ll take that
as a yes.” She slid her fingers through the thick, soft fur.
He climbed up beside her, his massive frame dwarfing the bed. He sniffed Oscar, nudging her onto the bed with his nose. She complied, sinking back against the pillows. He waited until she was still then lay across the end of the bed, covering her bare feet with his fur. She looked at him, exhaustion seeping in.
When had this become her life?
What would happen when the real world crept back in?
They had to go back to San Antonio at some point. Her brothers—she was thankful they were oblivious to all this.
In a matter of weeks, her everything had completely changed. She loved this man, this wolf, and his son. Even if the monster hunting them made her blood run cold.
She draped her arm over her eyes, trying to block out the memory of Thomas.
Finn nudged her foot with his nose. He waited until she looked at him then rested his muzzle on his paws, his blue eyes regarding her steadily. She reached out, her fingers sinking into the thick fur of his back, and closed her eyes.
…
Finn watched her sleep. He lay, human and naked and wrapped around her, his chin resting on the swell of her hip. He needed to wake her up, to hide her and Oscar before the Others arrived. But he couldn’t do it. She was peaceful. No hint of fear or worry troubled her. They had time. When she woke, everything would change—again.
Because of Malachi. Stupid, reckless, arrogant son of a bitch.
He sucked in a deep breath, frustration and anger tempting his wolf. But when he touched Jessa, the contact instantly soothed his need to fight. At least he’d taken a solid hunk out of Mal’s haunch—made sure Mal knew who was alpha, no matter how much Mal resented it. If Dante and Anders hadn’t jumped in the middle of it—he didn’t want to think about that. As mad as he was, he didn’t want to kill Mal. But his wolf sure as hell didn’t mind teaching him a lesson.
Oscar yawned, his little fist rising into the air as he stretched in his sleep.
Finn smiled, holding the small hand in his.
No scratches or bruising, no howling or pain—Oscar had slept through his change back from wolf to baby with only a few squeaks. Finn had seen it all. It had been torture. He’d wanted to hold his son but knew Oscar needed space to shift—like he did. And while Finn felt every shift and grind, pop and snap of his son’s change, Oscar took it like a champ. “You’re strong,” he murmured, smiling into his son’s heavy-lidded eyes.
Oscar stared at him, instantly alert. He opened his mouth and gurgled. His tiny fingers fastened onto Finn’s large finger with a surprisingly sturdy grip.
“That’s right, strong,” Finn said, resting his chin on Jessa’s hip to study his son more closely.
Oscar squealed, his legs kicking out.
Jessa laughed. “Good morning.”
Finn kissed her hip, burying his nose in the soft flannel she wore to draw in the comfort he’d need to face the day. If he had it his way, they’d spend the day like this. Wrapped up in each other, discovering this new family he was bound so fiercely to. But since keeping them safe was the only thing that mattered, staying put wasn’t an option.
“Morning,” he said, his hand sliding underneath the fabric to rest against the skin of her stomach. “You’re so damn soft.”
“You need a shower. Did you roll in the mud?” she asked, turning onto her back and forcing his hand up to cup her breast. “That wasn’t intentional,” she murmured, smiling.
But his fingers were already stroking the hard pebble of her nipple. “No complaints.” He rose onto one elbow, sliding up her side until they were eye-to-eye.
Jessa’s smile faded. “Finn, what happened to you?” Her fingers were feather-light against the gash on his shoulder.
“Malachi,” he answered, holding her hand and kissing her fingertips.
“You need stitches.” She tried to pull her hand away.
He grinned at her, cocking an eyebrow. “No stitches.” He bent, his lips latching onto her collarbone. He probably should have healed before changing back, but his wolf didn’t have fingers and hands, and the urge to touch Jessa had been too great.
“Finn.” Her protest was half-hearted.