Page 18 of Sasha's Wounded Wolf

“Where’s Sasha?” I demanded.

“Fuck!” he snarled. “You’re alive. You’re seriously fucking alive! What the fuck, Ro!”

“It’s a long story, brother.”

“Well, you better get it worked out because when my sister sees you, you might not be alive much longer.”

I ignored the warning. All I heard was confirmation Sasha had survived her attack. Nothing else mattered.

Chapter Seven

~Sasha~

Raine fell asleep at the table. My son hadn’t slept well the night before. Neither of us had. Normally, I’d try to keep him up longer before letting him take a nap. Instead, we’d had an early lunch, then I’d tucked him back in bed, humming a lullaby I’d used since he’d been a newborn. I treasured these moments. Just my son and me. Watching his beautiful face, relaxed in sleep. Lips slightly parted, long lashes dark against his baby-soft skin. So sweet. So innocent. Growing to look more and more like his father every day.

I finally forced myself to leave him to rest and made my way to the kitchen. I was restless, counting the minutes until Nico returned to tell me what the hell was going on. What had Easton and Lincoln come back to share? Were they going to admit what I’d always known? That Rowan hadn’t been in a tragic accident. He’d been murdered. I’d never believe anything else.

I was pouring hot water into my tea mug when I heard the back door.

“What did you find out?” I asked my brother, not bothering to turn around. “Did they admit he was murdered?”

“Sasha.”

That voice. That fucking voice haunted me. The cup I’d just picked up dropped from my hand, shattering on the floor and sending hot water to splash against my jeans. I wanted to turn, but I was frozen. What if I did, and he wasn’t there? What if that voice was only in my head? But I felt him behind me. The heat of his body soaking into mine. His hands. God, his hands coming around my waist and tugging me back against him.

“Don’t be my imagination,” I begged even as those hands urged me to turn.

“Sasha.”

I squeezed my eyes closed, not wanting to break the illusion, wanting to hold onto it, to him, for as long as I could.

“Look at me,” he urged, and I forced my eyes open, gasping when I got my first look at him.

“Rowan, please. Please be real.”

“I’m real,” he swore. “Touch me, baby. God, I need to feel you against me.”

“They told me you were dead,” we both said at the same time.

Then his mouth was on mine. I tugged down his hood, gripping those thick locks in my fingers and holding him to me. I jumped, wrapping my legs around his waist. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that he was here. That I was touching him. Kissing him. He’d died in a fire. Nico had told me. Swore to me. My brother would never lie to me. I had questions. Dozens of them. No, hundreds of them. But they could wait. I wanted to hit him. To tear him apart for surviving and not coming for me. Not tracking me down. In the same breath, I wanted to crawl inside his skin and never leave. No, I wanted him inside me.

“Bedroom,” Rowan growled, running his teeth over my neck.

“Here,” I begged. “Now.”

I found the zipper of the hooded jacket he wore and tugged it down. Not satisfied with that, I grabbed the neck of his shirt and ripped it down the middle, thrusting my hands in the opening I made and rubbing over him. A growl vibrated in Rowan’s chest.

“Where’s the bedroom, Sasha?”

I pointed blindly toward the kitchen doorway then waved toward the hall. I vaguely saw my brother in the front room, looking shellshocked, but I couldn’t focus on him right now. Later. Much later.

“Upstairs,” Nico said, and I realized Rowan must have asked again where to take me.

I licked his throat, wallowing in him.

“These scents. Why do you have other scents on you?” I demanded. “I need you. Only you.”

“God, yes,” he growled as I ground myself against him.

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