He looks at me, his gaze intense. "Matilde? That ain't family. That’s a hierarchy. She’d drain you dry to keep her power. That ain't a pack. That’s a parasite."
"I don't have a pack," I whisper. "I just have a wrench and a very bad credit score."
"You're breathing," he says. "That’s a start."
He stands up, the movement fluid and powerful. He looms over the small space, casting a long shadow.
"Sleep," he commands. "You take the bed. Leg needs elevation."
"Where will you sleep?" I ask, eyeing the nest.
"Floor," he says shortly. He walks over to the pile of furs and kicks off his boots. He doesn't bother with a shirt. He just drops onto the blankets, curling onto his side facing the door.
I lie down on the mattress. It smells like him. The cedar. The musk. It’s everywhere.
I turn onto my side, staring at the wall.
Tick. Tock.The clock in my head is running fast.
I close my eyes, but the images won't stop. Matilde’s teeth. The nails in the window. The Hunters with their UV lights.
I turn over. The springs squeak.
I stare at the ceiling.
I turn again, restless, my skin itching with phantom anxiety.
"Stop fidgeting," Jax’s voice comes from the dark. It’s low, rough, vibrating through the floorboards.
"I can't," I whisper. "My gears are grinding. I keep thinking about the door. About them coming in."
There’s a rustle of fabric.
"They won't come in."
"You can't know that," I argue. "Physics says any barrier can be breached with enough force."
"I am the barrier," he says.
I lift my head. I can see his eyes glowing in the darkness near the stove. Two burning coals of gold. He’s watching me.
"Go to sleep, Miranda," he says, his voice becoming a rumble that feels strangely like a purr. "I’m right here. Nothing touches you unless it goes through me first."
"Why?" I ask. "Why protect me? I’m a liability."
He is silent for a long time. The air shifts, thickening with that heavy, electric tension that makes all the hair on the back of my arms stand up.
"You're safer with the Wolf who wants to eat you," he says finally, the words hanging in the air like a promise and a threat, "than the Vampire who wants to drain you."
“Isn’t it the same?” I mutter, turning over. But somehow, deep down, his words calm my restless heart and slowly, sleep claims me.
8
JAX
The dripping faucet is silent.
For three years, that faucet has kept a steady, rhythmic beat in the silence of the swamp.Drip. Drip. Drip.It was part of the cabin’s noise, like the settling wood and the wind in the cypress.
