“Now, yeah,” she said. “I can’t believe you came.”
A low rumble of disapproval, so quiet and gentle she felt only his care. “Of course I came.”
“I want to get away from here. Right now.”
“Definitely,” he said.
As they walked together toward her car, the front door opened, and her parents charged out onto the porch.
Thirteen
Willow’slime-and-vanillaessence,tingedwith heavy anxiety, had found him five houses away when he sprang from Aaron’s truck. He’d forced himself not to run down the sidewalk. A six-foot-four, heavily muscled male stranger sprinting through the neighborhood at half-past-midnight was likely to attract attention, but her scent was so hurt, so scared. The instinct to run to his mate had nearly overpowered the rest of his thoughts.
Her scent had lightened when she saw him. She’d calmed as he held her, as he realized trust had its own scent, sort of an enhancing of a person’s essence. Lime filled Ezra’s senses, and for a moment they each brought peace to the other.
For about two seconds.
Until the front door flew open and Willow’s parents stormed out onto the porch, which lit up like daytime thanks to a motion-sensing floodlight.
Her father was tall for a vanilla, maybe six-foot-three, and lanky. Her mother was shorter than she was, heavier too, with pale blue eyes. They had the same dark hair, and Willow’s deep-set brown eyes were a replica of her dad’s.
In the moment Ezra’s brain recorded basic details, Willow’s father strode to the edge of the porch and planted his hands on the rail. Though Ezra stood two inches taller, from the height of the porch the man could look down on him. His glare was all for Willow, though.
“So you just keep piling it on, huh. Invitingthis”—he jabbed a finger at Ezra—“into our front yard.”
“Thisis Ezra Sterling, Mom and Dad. Ezra,theseare my parents Brandon and Lisa Fitzgerald.”
Willow’s scent was all over the place now, anxious and embarrassed, indignant and hurt, every feeling so intense they burned in Ezra’s nose. Yet the moment her folks emerged, her demeanor had smoothed out. Without his wolf senses, Ezra would never know how overwhelmed she was. His chest swelled with pride at his mate’s composure and firmness, but it was time Ezra stepped up for her. He wouldn’t stand by while she was berated. He slipped his hand into hers.
“Don’t you freaking touch my daughter,” Brandon said.
Lisa stepped out from behind her husband to the edge of the porch. To Ezra she spoke slowly, with exaggeration, as though to a stray dog. “You. Go home.”
Ire stirred his blood, pulled his lips back from his teeth, and he turned his face and clenched his free hand to keep back a growl. How could these people have raised his curious, sweet Willow?
“That’s enough.” Willow’s voice rang out. She tugged Ezra’s hand. “Let’s go.”
“You are not leaving withthat!” Another finger-jab from Brandon.
“Oh yes I am, Dad. I’m leaving with this very good man who showed up when I needed him, and I’m proud to say Ezra is my wolf and no one else’s, that I’m his mate and no one else’s, and—”
“His mate?” cried Lisa.
Their scents scorched hot and thick, stunned and appalled. Then Brandon was vaulting off the porch on top of Ezra, shoving him against the car so that the mirror gouged his mid-back. Brandon’s fists slugged hard and fast—Ezra’s ribs, stomach, ribs, stomach, again and again and again. “You touched my daughter, you animal, you—”
“Dad! Stop!”
“You put your hands on my daughter? You kissed my daughter?”
“Dad!”
Enough was enough. Ezra was a wolf. He would take what he could for Willow, but not this. He raised his arm to the level of his chest, and Brandon bounced off him. Repelling the vanilla was that easy. Brandon staggered back and nearly collided with Willow. Fear seized his body as he seemed to realize for the first time that he’d just attacked an apex. He stood still, breaths heaving.
“Yes,” Ezra said. “I’ve kissed your daughter. And I’ll protect, respect, and honor her always.”
“You dirty werewolf.”
Ezra froze.
