Page 25 of Bad Blood Wolf

Tentatively, he stroked the fur between her ears. So soft. He ran his hand down her head and neck, smoothing the bristling fur.

When she didn’t try to kill him, he did it again, and again, trying to soothe her with his touch. Gradually he felt the skin and muscles relax.

But he still hurt inside. From the pain of her running, from the pain of knowing he’d done something wrong.

He wanted—he didn’t know what he wanted. Except his heart still felt raw and sore and needy, and he longed for a gentle touch. A human touch.

He stilled his hand. “Can I tell you something?” he said softly.

She turned her head and stared at him, then lowered her body until she was lying on the futon. He took that for a ‘yes.’

He gave a self-conscious laugh, pulling his hands back into his lap. Out of habit, he found a quarter in his jacket pocket, and started spinning it between his fingers.

“You scare the hell out of me, you know that?” he said. “And not just because you’re so beautiful, and so badass. And could probably tear me apart.” Her tail twitched, but she was still watching him. Still listening.

“But because… shit.”

Man up, Jameson,he told himself.

“Because you’re so out of my league,” he said in a rush. “I kind of used to fantasize about you, about talking to you, asking you out, having wild amazing sex with you somewhere that wasn’t the back of a truck. And even with all that, what just happened a little while ago was so way more amazing than I ever imagined.”

She was still watching him intently, and he just babbled on. It was a relief to have somebody to talk to. He was so fucking tired of being ostracized, being lonely, carrying so much all by himself. He was a wolf, made to be in a pack.

He was never meant to be alone.

“Truthfully,” he said, staring down at his scratched-up arms, “my life pretty much sucks right now. You might have noticed that I’m not a fan favorite in the Nashville pack. I don’t know how jaguars feel about their crews, but for wolves… well, the pack bond is everything. If your pack hates you, it hurts you … here.”

He put his fist over his heart.

“But every time I’m around you, every time you touch me, I start to feel better. Like that weight on my chest is lifted, and I can breathe again.”

He shifted his weight on the futon and looked into her eyes. “I want to know what this is, what I feel when we’re together. I want to know if you feel it too.”

He wished to hell he was getting some reaction from her. Something to tell him if she even cared what he was saying.

“You’re the first good thing that’s happened to me in a really long time. And I get you have your own shit going on. But I thought…”

He trailed off, dropping his head into his hands and tangling his fingers in his hair. This was going nowhere. He was talking to a fucking cat. He shoved his hair back and got to his feet.

“Ah, fuck it,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything. You already helped me more than I deserved. And whatever I felt tonight… you obviously didn’t.”

He walked to the door. “Thanks for helping me get my money back. You’ll never know how much that meant.” He felt like his heart was ripping apart. She didn’t care. She never would. “Have a nice life, Demazon.”

He was already stepping outside when he heard the soft ‘pops’ of bones breaking, and then Jasmin’s low, gravelly voice.

“Don’t go.”