“Guess it was difficult, going from Juilliard to, like, the pole?” asked the pixie, too casually. “It must have been so different. All that discipline, then… that.”
I stared at my hands. “Yeah,” I muttered.
The tan woman—who hadn’t spoken yet, just stared at me with hooded eyes—finally said, “I just think the standard for our MC and pack officers’ mates is usually higher. That’s what’s most surprising about Arsenal bringing you here. Do you expect him to claim you?” She asked like she couldn’t imagine he would dirty the pack with me.
The conversation devolved from there. Every question was more pointed, more invasive. Did you ever date customers? Did you like it? How much money did you make? Did you ever get recognized on the street? Was it weird to be watched all the time? Was it hard to keep yourself clean? Did you have to do drugs to get through it?
I answered each one as flatly as possible, hoping they’d get bored, but every answer only seemed to make them hungrier.
By minute ten, my head felt like it was filling with helium. I tried to leave, but the redhead’s hand landed on my forearm, holding me in place.
“We just want to be sure you’re a good fit for the pack,” she said, her nails digging in a fraction too hard. “It’s nothing personal. We’re just very protective of our own.”
That was when I realized I’d never be one of them. No matter how many muffins I ate at Aspen’s, no matter how manypicnics or potlucks I showed up for, I’d always be the girl who was too damaged to love.
My wolf rolled over, baring its belly.
“I should go,” I whispered. “It’s late.”
The pixie pouted. “So soon? We hardly got to know you.”
She reached for my hand, and for a second I thought she was going to kiss it, like some weird Southern debutante, but instead she just patted it twice and said, “Maybe next time you can tell us about your favorite routine.”
The laughter that followed was the worst yet—sharp, cold, the kind that leaves bruises.
I took a backward step toward the stairs, and then—
The air changed. A sound like a thunderclap, but lower, deeper, vibrating in my teeth.
A growl.
Every head snapped toward the entryway. Jess was there, hair pulled tight in a knot, eyes black and bottomless, the lines of his face gone sharp as a guillotine.
He took in the room—me, hunched and humiliated; the women, clustered together like a murder of crows—and said, in a voice that could cut through steel:
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Nobody answered. The toddler started to cry.
Jess didn’t move, didn’t even blink. “Everyone of you better know that I will be confronting your mates. If you don’t have a mate, I’ll be chatting with your fathers. They will know how shameful everyone of you has behaved toward my mate. If this behavioreverhappens again, you will take it up with the Luna. And then I’ll handle it myself.”
A tremor ran through the group. The pixie opened her mouth, but Jess’s stare pinned her shut.
“I’ve been nice. I’ve let the pack handle its own. But this ends now.” His voice never rose above a whisper, but it carried toevery corner of the room. “Harper’s with me. You don’t know her story; her sacrifice; you’ve not walked in her shoes. Spread the word. If anyone disrespects her again, therewillbe hell to pay. If you have a problem with that, you come to me. Not her. Not ever. Don’t talk to her. Don’tlookat her unless it’s with the respect she rightly deserves.”
The silence was absolute, except for the snuffling toddler and the sound of my own pulse in my ears.
“Go,” he said, not to the women, but to me.
I moved. I floated past the couch, the kitchen, the judgment, until Jess’s hand closed around mine, warm and steady. He didn’t tug, didn’t squeeze, just let me know he was there.
We climbed the stairs together, not speaking, not looking back. The door to his apartment shut behind us, and the world outside collapsed into a single, blessed point of quiet.
He let go of my hand then, but not before squeezing it once, hard enough to remind me that not every part of me was breakable.
Some pieces, it seemed, could be mended.
We didn’t speak for a long time. Jess dropped my hand at the door and motioned for me to sit, then locked the deadbolt with an unnecessary click. He moved through the room like a caged animal, pulling a throw blanket off the back of the sectional, rearranging pillows until there was a small fortress built for me in the corner of the couch. I let him, not wanting to break the fragile peace his presence offered.
