Page 73 of What a Wolf Demands

And he could have easily lost her.

He’d be damned if he let that happen.

Because he was helpless without her.

In his mind, his wolf settled. If it had been a flesh and blood creature, it would have curled its tail around its body, content that its message had been received at last.

Protect.

Oh yes. He’d done that. He was prepared to do a lot more.

Dimly, he became aware that he was staring at her through the glass, his phone still pressed to his ear.

Ah yes. Remy had been about to give him advice. To tell him what she needed.

“I know what she needs,” he heard himself tell his friend, his heart pounding as he held Lily’s gaze.

He wasn’t conscious of ending the call or sliding the phone into his pocket. But he must have, because his hands were free as he opened the booth and walked toward the SUV. He felt her gaze as he passed in front of the car, and she turned her head toward him as he opened the door and climbed in.

He looked at her then, their eyes meeting as the car’s overhead light winked out, leaving them in rain-washed semidarkness, the gentle rumble of the engine underneath them.

“Did you talk to your Alpha?” she asked, her voice rusty as if she hadn’t used it in a long time. Which, of course, she hadn’t.

He matched his volume to the engine’s. Because this was a time to be gentle—a calm before the storm he could feel brewing in her, even if she couldn’t yet. “No,” he said. “He returns from his trip tomorrow. Remy will brief him then.”

She looked around, her gaze touching the phone booth and the highway before returning to him. “So what do we do until then?”

“We wait.”

Fear flared in her gaze, but she smothered it quickly. “Where are we?”

“About two miles from the state line.” He pointed down the highway. “You can’t see it, but the Mississippi River is just there. The seat of the Mississippi Territory is in Natchez on the other side. As I’m sure you know, the loup-garou don’t have a presence this far north. Once we get permission to cross into the territory, we’ll book a flight home.”

“Home.” She seemed to consider the word. Then her hands clenched in her lap. “Bart’s dead.”

“Yes.”

“Luc tortured him.”

“Yes.”

“Blinded him.”

“Yes.”

She dragged in a ragged breath. “And then h-he just killed him.”

“Yes.”

Her lower lip trembled, her voice thick. “He died because of me.”

Dom shook his head. “No, Lily. That’s not the case.”

Her fists tightened. “How can you say that? He wouldn’t have been in that basement if not for me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What!” She turned her body on the seat, facing him head on. “Yes, I do. Of course I do!” Her voice rose. “You heard Luc. He used Bart to get to me.”

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