Page 38 of Broken-Hearted

“You’re quiet,” he says as we leave big cities and towns behind us on our approach to the mountain ranges that he told me meant we were nearing Hardin.

“Just thinking.”

Should I ask him about Regan being an omega, or about the anguish I feel in him? Because it would be the height of hypocrisy to be the one asking him any question at all when I nearly bit his head off back in the motel.

“About anything in particular?” He darts a rapid glance my way.

The highway is busy and has been steadily getting busier. We were on the road early, but now it’s late morning, the sleeping inhabitants of Colorado have had time to wake up, get in their vehicles, and hit the road.

Eighteen-wheelers, small trucks, and cars hurtle past in both directions as we make the long drive to the northern ranges of Colorado.

“Clara? What is it?” He gives me another rapid glance.

“You didn’t call me peach.”

His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “I got the sense I overstepped last night.”

So he’s backing off. Just like I told him.

Is it weird that I kind of wish he wouldn’t?

I look away from his stubbled jaw. He didn’t shave. Hasn’t for a few days now, and I’m tempted to run my finger along it to see how it feels.

“What’s your pack like?” I ask, looking out of the window.

“Just your standard pack,” he says simply.

“Except it has an alpha with a reputation for slaughtering half his pack that nearly made my sister stuff me in the trunk of her car to stop me from going near him.”

“Martha would have done that?” Amusement warms his voice.

But that anguish I sense in him is still there. If I wasn’t what I was, I wouldn’t know anything about it. Nathan Blackshaw is very good at hiding his hurt.

“She would. When she wasn’t nagging me to death to pick up my crap off the floor, she was—is—just about the most protective person you’ll ever meet.”

“Ah, Dayne and Talis are like that about all of us.”

Curious, I forget about the gorgeous views outside my window to focus wholly on Nathan. “Talis?”

“Luna. Also wrangler of twin toddlers who love nothing more than to try to stick their fingers into plug sockets and find other interesting ways to kill themselves. Patrick is a few minutes older, but quiet. Angel… well, let’s just say, you’d have to walk for a while to get away from the sound of her scream.”

His dry tone draws a smile to my lips. “Your pack sounds interesting.”

Pack Vincent, a tiny pack in the middle of nowhere Ohio, was very ordinary.

We had a typical alpha and luna. Pack runs every few days. Loud meals in the dining room, weekly meetings where sometimes arguments overtook the meeting itself.

It was full of love and caring, friendship, and family.

I would give anything to have them back.

He snorts. “I guess so. Patrick and Angel own all our hearts, and we’d do anything to keep them safe.”

He loves them. The sudden pang for everything I lost squeezes my throatandmy chest, makes it hard to take a breath.

When my pack died, Martha and I lost not only a home, we lost family and a connection to the past. We lost everything. With all those relationships stolen from us, we only had each other. Now she has Ty and I’m so happy that she has him, but I wish I had more.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “And the rest of your pack?”

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