Page 31 of Banished From the Pack

She runs her hands over the bedspread, outlining her curves. “Why’s he so mad?”

“What?” I say, wondering where that idea came from. “He’s not mad. He looks scary because he is scary. He’s a badass motherfucker. When he’s on the back of his beast of a motorcycle, riding through town, people take one look at him and run for cover.”

“But you said he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“He won’t,” I say. “He wouldn’t hurt a defenseless pup like you.”

“Oh,” she says, settling back on the bed, seeming to relax at last.

“Do I scare you?” I ask, unable to help myself.

She pierces me with a beguiling gaze. “You did at first, but…” She shakes her head, and her long, silky hair musses against the pillowcase. “Not anymore. I like you.”

Did she just say she liked me? Lucifer help me, I’m screwed. I can’t recall a woman ever saying that to me. Women want to fuck me, and then they want to pretend they don’t know me. They want to ride my dick until they’ve had three or four come-to-Jesus orgasms. They want to throw it in their exes face that they moved on with a bigger, meaner, tougher guy with a bigger dick. They don’t like me.

Suddenly, it feels like I swallowed a fishhook and she’s reeling me in. It fucks with my head, so after one final sweep of her blanketed body and her innocent face, I flick off the light and leave her to sleep. I’ve never wanted more from a woman than they want from me. I sure as fuck never wanted one to like me. That would just lead to even more trouble. But damn if Luna’s words echoing in my head don’t sound good.

Chapter Twelve

Luna

The days pass in a blur as I get to know the three men who took me in while trying not to be a burden, be polite, and not bring them down with my grief. Sometimes, the pain of losing Mama hits me fresh, and I have to go curl up in the bed and hope I won’t wake up. I remember what she said about not trusting wolves, and also what they said about being outlaws, which is better than a pack and more trustworthy. Maybe they’re right. These men don’t seem so scary once I know them a little, though Warrick’s always grumpy and watches me with as much suspicion as I have of him.

Over the next few days, Callan tends to me when I’m sad and makes sure I eat, Ethan teaches me how to wash the sheets so I can have a clean bed, and Warrick just watches when he’s around. They all go off to “a job,” which Ethan says is just another way of saying digging ditches, during most of daylight hours for a couple days. When they’re gone, I clean up the messy house some and wash the clothes that are scattered everywhere.

A few mornings later, I’m dragged from sleep by the sound of the brothers’ shouts. Sliding from the sheets, I stealth-walk across the bedroom and crack the door.

“We can’t take care of another stray,” Warrick roars. “She’s a puppy in a wolf’s body.”

“But—” Callan starts.

Warrick cuts him off. “We have no idea why she was in that swamp. If she really lived there, she was probably on the run from something, which means that something is still out there, still after her. Which means she’ll bring trouble straight here.” A loud pounding rattles the air like Warrick is hammering the table with his fist. “Why should we put ourselves in danger for someone we don’t even know?”

“We can protect her,” Callan says. “If something’s coming after her, she won’t make it on her own. She can’t defend herself. But we can.”

“No, goddamn it,” Warrick snarls. “She can’t be trusted. She could be lying about everything. We have no proof that she even lost her mother. That could be just a story she told us to get sympathy.”

The pain in my chest flares at the reminder of the constant ache of what I’ve lost. Mama, gone. My home, abandoned.

The scratch of the little stick Warrick uses to light the end of his roll of dried leaves crackles into the air. Then, the smell of the burning leaves tickles my nose.

“We can’t keep her,” Warrick says in a softer tone. “She’s a liability to what we’ve made for ourselves here. For all we know, she’s one of Axel’s, come to catch us in the act.”

I fling open the door and march out of the bedroom, my hands balled into fists by my side. They’re in the kitchen sitting around the table. Three heads turn to stare at me as I march into the kitchen.

“Y’all think I’m lying about losing the only person in my life?” I demand.

With three sets of eyes glued to my body, I’m suddenly aware of how alone I am. They’re each bigger than any one man ought to be, and they have the armor of ink on their skin and clothes on top of that. Most of all, they have each other, and being together makes them three times as strong as each man is alone.

I’m one little wolf, without even a set of clothes to call my own. I stand in the kitchen with all I have—my own body, which they’re all three staring at like they’d like to gobble it down in one bite. I’ve never felt so small, so vulnerable, so much in need of someone on my side.

“You want me to go home, I’ll go,” I say. “I didn’t ask you to bring me here. I never wanted to be a bother, but y’all told me to stay when I made to leave.”

“You’re not a bother,” Callan says, standing and peeling off his t-shirt. His muscles ripple in waves under his skin as he hands me his shirt. I swallow, pulling my eyes away from the mesmerizing sight of all that strength and power in one body.

I pull on his shirt, grateful for the warmth and the comforting smell of my favorite brother surrounding me. I’m shaking, though I don’t feel cold, and it helps soothe down my nerves.

“If you don’t believe me, ask Healer Artuna,” I say to Warrick. “Mama’s dead body is still at her place if she hasn’t fed it to the gators yet.”