Page 23 of Fractured Mates

Ishouldn’t be pleased with how easily I piss off Sophie, but I am. That proves she feels something for me, which is better than her being indifferent. Plus, she makes it almost too easy to push her buttons with how tightly wound she is. My wolf still doesn’t agree with my choice to do so—at least I assume so by his continued silence—but that’s a problem to be worked out later.

Right now, I need Maciah to call me back, and I need Sophie to eat before she actually bites my head off.

Having been a protector for over ten years, I consider myself more than capable in most situations, but this she-wolf has shown me that I can still be taken by surprise, and I don’t intend to underestimate her again.

Not that I’ll tell her this, but I regret not listening to her about the cabin. The magic should have been enough and it wasn’t. Sophie’s gut had known that, even if she hadn’t pushed me hard to get me to change my mind.

I hadn’t even considered the possibility of being found, but I should have.

My wolf makes an odd noise, but he still doesn’t say anything.

Before I step back into the room with our newly delivered pizzas, I peek at the half moon in the sky and inhale deeply.

I miss you, Cara, but I can’t help from thinking that you’re the one who pushed me here. To this job and to this woman. Is it her? Is Sophie the one who will make sure I don’t spend the rest of my life wishing for death so that I can find you again?

Even as a wolf shifter, I’ve never believed in ghosts, but since losing Cara, I’ve felt and seen too many things to not believe that her soul is somewhere out there, watching over me.

It could just be the heat from the pizza in my hands, but once again, there’s a warmth in my chest, pressing in, comforting me.

With a contented sigh, I go back into the room, feeling lighter than I have in quite some time. I set the food down and strip off my damp pants and shirt. I’d gotten enough blood off me that I only looked dirty as opposed to a murderer, but I still need to change. Or more accurately, get dry.

I’d stashed all my shit in the cabin and only had time to grab Sophie’s clothes when we fled. So, by the time I remember I have nothing else here, I’m standing near the door in nothing other than my boxers. Instead of putting my stained shirt and pants back on, I stretch and take my time, even when I hear the shower shut off and the bathroom door open.

Slowly, I turn around and find Sophie openly staring at me. I can’t stop myself from smirking as I say, “Pizza is here.”

Her eyes narrow, as if I’ve insulted her. “No shit.”

She’s only wearing a towel, and I watch as she struts forward, gripping the cotton of her towel with one hand and snagging a box of pizza with her other.

“I’m eating in the bathroom,” she announces, turning on her heel.

I should let her, but I don’t. Sophie can’t keep trying to run from me. Not when I’m certain she’s not actually running from me.

My fingers wrap around her bicep to stop her forward momentum, but all I manage to do is jerk her arm back, and the hand that was holding her towel to her body comes with it.

In a matter of seconds, she’s once again naked. Since we’re not in any danger, I don’t stop my eyes from roaming over her firm backside. There isn’t a dimple in her perfect, creamy skin, and her muscles flex as she spins around, hiding herself.

Sophie holds the pizza box above her tits, blocking my view of anything lower unless I choose to step back, which I don’t intend on doing. Giving her space feels like the wrong move.

Her eyes snap up toward mine, flickering with rage. “What the fuck is your problem?”

I ignore the venom in her words, because something tells me that it only disguises the same attraction that I’m feeling.

My body moves forward, the edges of the hot pizza box now pressing against both of our chests, the scent of food wafting between us. “I’m not the one with a problem, princess.”

Her eyes widen. “Princess? You’re even more stupid than I already thought if you want to keep calling me that.”

I can understand why she doesn’t believe the nickname to be fitting, but that’s exactly why I’ve used it twice now.

My lips curve upward as I reach for the box between us. When she notices my movements, she backs up. “Don’t you touch my food, asshole. I will hurt you.”

“Will you?” I taunt, closing the distance she’s trying to create between us while she wields the pizza like a shield. “Because I know you can, but I don’t believe you will.”

Her mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. She’s trapped against the wall next to the bathroom door. One step to the left and she could escape behind that door, but she’s staying put, glaring up at me with all the indignation I expect.

Between the hard lines of fury that frame her oval face, I watch for the more subtle signs that tell me I’m not wrong in my thoughts.

The mere fact that she’s yet to punch me in the face or throw another verbal dig at me tells me I’m not. On top of that, I notice the hitch in her breathing as her shoulders move ever so slightly, the way her cheeks are painted in maroon, and how her teeth tug at her lower lip without ever actually peeking out.

---