How could he not? It stood there, before him. And lived inside of him. “Yes.”
“Good. It’s easier to fight for something you believe in.”
He’d never thought of himself as a fighter. Until now. But she was right. As hard as it was to know what he knew, it explained why she was so single-minded. If Ellen was taken from him? It was hard to breathe, to think, or pay attention to what she was saying. His wolf was up and pacing again, the drive to take Cyrus down now overruling everything else—except the feel of her as she pressed herself closer to him.
Soft. Warm. Inviting. His.
Her mismatched eyes were studying him. “He can never get his hands on the children. Ever.”
He nodded. Until Cyrus was dead, the pack needed to be on alert. He wasn’t sure he could handle the answer but knowing just how patient Cyrus could be was relevant. “When did this happen, Ellen? How old would Isabel be?”
She stared at his chest. “According to their death certificates, she died with her father in the San Francisco earthquake. April eighteenth, nineteen hundred and six. So many died that day, Cyrus must have been waiting for the perfect time. The chaos and devastation left behind ensured no one would find mass casualties unusual.” She stared up at him. “My pack, I think, though I cannot be sure. All of them, William and Isabel, too, were staying in a hotel that collapsed—killing all inside.”
His arms snaked around her then, holding her close. Holy Fuck.
The implications of what she said weren’t lost on him. While his brain ticked off a list of questions that included how long she’d been alive and how her blood strengthened Cyrus, a less rational part of him wanted action—violence—against the motherfucker who’d done so much to her. Eighteen hundred and six? She’d been Cyrus’s captive ever since. A vice clamped down on his heart. Before it thundered wildly, endorphins and adrenaline kicking it into overdrive.
But her reaction to the vault made sense. Half of the artifacts he’d collected came from the remains of a purported witches’ coven that was destroyed in the San Francisco quake. He’d almost passed the wooden chest up. Almost. But something about it had held his attention until he’d carried it out. Now everything clicked into place. The beaded necklace. He knew, with absolute certainty, that it was the one she’d mentioned. Her pack’s story. Her forgotten history. What he’d found was for her. It was hard to wrap his head around what was happening. He didn’t need more evidence of her magic, more proof that she was right—about everything. Denying it? Impossible. They were fated to be together.
A new thrum, hot and wild, flooded his blood. This time, he didn’t ignore what it was. No, who it was. It was his…wolf. And it was time the two of them came to an understanding.
…
She woke to a new world. A far more complicated world than the one in which she’d fallen asleep. And the man beside her? Pleasure wasn’t something she remembered well. Her wolf did—she was the one that put them in this position. In bed. Naked. Thoroughly satisfied.
And mated for life.
Everything about him appealed to her. No, not appealed. That wasn’t enough. He called to her, demanded a response—one her wolf was all too happy to give him. Surrender and domination, she wasn’t sure which was which when she was with him. Did it matter?
It was an alarming thought.
Still, it was the truth. A terrifying truth.
He turned his head, his hair falling onto his forehead. Thick copper lashes rested on his cheek. Lips parted. Body relaxed. He slept deeply, his breathing deep and even. Too tempting to resist. Her wolf refused to resist.
Which made her frown. Her wolf was happy. Was she? This brilliant, stubborn man was now inextricably bound to her. Forever. They had no common ground—no shared beliefs—except the overwhelming urge to explore and pleasure him. To touch him. To be with him.
And, now, to hunt Cyrus. But would he still feel that way when he woke? When his wolf was caged and he was buttoned into his starched shirts and white lab coat?
How will this work?
Her wolf dismissed her worries and settled in, staring at hi
m in delight.
Stupid animal.
Before she knew it, one finger ran along his jaw, the scrape of stubble against her fingertips tickling her heightened nerves. Her wolf wanted more. According to her wolf, there was far too much space between them. I won’t climb on top of him while he’s sleeping, she argued silently.
What would happen when he woke up? Knowing him, there would be no shy smiles and tender glances. And why should there be? Being mated had little to do with emotion and everything to do with instinct. Instinct was something he didn’t understand—not yet. Not as long as he continued to fight who and what he was.
Her wolf had every confidence they would draw him out. Last night had been promising, but Hollis was a stubborn idiot. Even if he stopped denying his wolf’s existence, he wouldn’t wake up smiling and happy about it.
And now she was stuck with him.
If only she could share her wolf’s delight.
To her, there was nothing delightful about this. Except for the sex.