Page 11 of Protected By the Wolven

I wave a hand. “No need. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

She shakes her head stubbornly. “There must be something I can do. Maybe I could cook for you sometime? Or clean the apartment?”

“Zoya, you’re my guest, not my maid. Although…” I tap my chin thoughtfully. “There is one thing.”

“Name it.” She sits up straighter, eager to hear my request.

I point at her, then at my bedroom door. “You. Bed. Tonight.”

Her face falls, those beautiful blue eyes flare, and her mouth pops open to a shocked O. It’s only now that I realize she misinterpreted my order to sleep in my bed.

“No! I didn’t mean… I mean… You should sleep in my bed tonightalone.”

She blinks, recovers her lost calm, then laughs. “What? No, absolutely not! I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

“Why not? You slept on the couch last night. It’s only fair.”

“But it’s your bed! I don’t want to impose.” She twists her hands in her lap.

I reach over to still her fidgeting fingers. “Zoya, you’re not imposing. I want you to be comfortable. Please, I insist.”

She sighs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” I grin. “I can be very persistent.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll take the bed. But only because you’re being so annoyingly chivalrous about it.”

“I prefer ‘charmingly persuasive,’ but I’ll take it.” I wink and she laughs. The sound, warm and bright, arrows straight to my guts… and lower.

“Thank you, Lash. Really. For all of this.” She gestures around my shithole apartment as though it were Buckingham Palace.

“Anytime, Zoya. I’m just happy you’re here and safe.”

She leans against the couch, clearly letting her guard down a little more. Bit by bit, she’s allowing herself to relax in my presence. It takes everything in me not to scoot closer and wrap an arm around her. Baby steps, I remind myself. She’s been through so much. The last thing I want to do is spook her.

For now, I’ll content myself with the small victory of her taking the bed. And maybe tonight, I’ll impress her with my next-level cooking skills. After all, anyone can make an omelet, right?

Chapter Ten

Zoya

The next morning, I not only woke up in Lash’s bed, but he told me it was okay for little Miska to sleep with me. It’s a comfort to have her snuggled close to my chest. When I asked Max if the pup could join us in bed, his face got thunderous, and he threatened to throw the dog across the room if she ever put her paws on the bed.

“Zoya?” Lash calls from the other room, reminding me that I took the poor guy’s bed. Just hearing his voice calms me, though. He’s been so kind.

“Yes?”

“Can you come out here?”

It’s only now that I realize that the smell of bacon is curling through the air. I throw on another of Marissa’s dresses, sunny yellow this time, and pad barefoot to the kitchen where Lash has an assembly line of toast going. The stack looks high enough for six people.

“The chicken salad sandwiches you made last night were amazing. Now you’ve made me another breakfast? Maybe I can cook pierogies and sausage for you tonight?”

“Sit. Eat. I have news.”

Though he’s smiling, which means four of his long fangs are visible instead of the two that show when his mouth is at rest, every muscle in my body tenses. It’s been a long time since the word “news” wasn’t synonymous with the word “bad.”

He sets a plate heaping with bacon and eggs in front of me, then motions to the stack of toast with three jars of jelly in the middle of the table. Until I hear just what, exactly, this news is, I’ve lost my appetite.

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