Page 85 of Revenge of the Blood Pack

“What the fuck did you just say?” Braxton says, taking a step toward him.

Luckily, Trouble is back with the ball, and Braxton is momentarily distracted when he has to throw it again. I might have been annoyed about the dog coming with us in the beginning, but I’ve more than seen his value over the course of this mission together. Including right now.

I clear my throat. “What makes you think our relationship is… anything but professional?”

Orson grins, but there’s nothing malicious in his expression. “You know I’m a shifter, right? Her scent is all over you. Hell, I could hear you two this morning. Kudos, by the way, on that. It sounded like an impressive effort.” I open my mouth to say what, I’m not sure, but he continues. “Even the first time I was stuck in a car with you three… well, you can imagine that the scents in that car made your relationship clear. Well, at least one aspect ofit. I just think it’d be easier to navigate my role here with more information.”

I shift on my feet, at a loss for words, but manage, “The nature of our relationship is namely professional.”

His eyes widen. “So, she’s not yours?”

“She’s fucking ours,” Braxton says, pounding a fist to his chest like a damn caveman.

Our eyes lock, but Braxton has that crazed look in his eyes. The one that tells me his wolf is riding close to the surface, and if I’m not careful, he’s going to shift.Damn it. Something about this Orson gets under his skin. Or maybe it’s the fact that we can both sense something between him and Asha.

I rub the back of my neck. “We aren’t officially anything but co-workers.” Before Braxton can say more, I push on, “but I also wouldn’t advise you go anywhere near her.”

He nods, still seeming completely at ease. “Understood.” He sighs. “Well, I’m going to try to catch a couple more hours of sleep while I can. You don’t get a bed that soft every damn day, after all.”

We exchange a look as he heads inside. The motel beds arehardlycomfortable. This man is something else. Something I can’t quite figure out.

When the door closes behind him, Braxton growls, “Why didn’t you make our position clearer?”

I turn to face him. “Clearer? What did you want me to tell him? That she might be our mate? Or that she’s just a woman we’re infatuated with? Whatisour relationship, Braxton? Do you even know how she feels about us?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know, but she’s ours, and that asshole better watch himself.”

“Of that, we’re in agreement,” I say.

I don’t like that Orson asked about Asha.What was his intention? Just to change the power balance and make us uncomfortable? Or was he taking an interest in our woman?

My wolf bristles inside of me, and I hate that we’re both feeling the same way. Orson should be watched. Carefully.

ELEVEN

Asha

I wake with a start.My arm swipes across the bed in search of Max, but only passes through ruffled sheets.Where is he?The question echoes louder and louder, propelling me out of bed in a frantic search. I think some wisp of dreamy thinking makes this feel like a nightmare, but by the time I stumble into the adjoining room, I realize how silly I’m being.

Through the drapes, two silhouettes mill about in front of the room. Their shapes are unmistakable. Max watches while Braxton hurls a tennis ball, and I listen as the sound of Trouble’s paws scraping at the dirt fades into the distance.

I look back in the room, and my eyes fall on Orson, sprawled atop the sheets in nothing but his boxers. I’m granted a view of his impressive physique. He’s long and wiry, golden tan skin taut around sinewy limbs. Six pack, smooth pecs, and—ahem…

I literally choke on my own spit, which rouses Orson from his slumber. My eyes snap from the log stuffed inside his gray boxer-briefs to his face as he blinks sleep away. He plugs theballs of his thumbs into his eye sockets and rubs them vigorously before acknowledging my presence.

“Morning, Asha,” he greets, his voice pitched lower and made gravelly by sudden wakefulness.

“Uh, morning, Orson,” I return.

He sits upright, flexing those abdominal muscles, and it takes all my concentration not to gawk.You have two hunks already. Are you starting a collection?I think flippantly. Perhaps I ought to as Orson stands from the bed, his Adonis figure on full display. He flashes a smile and I feel my cheeks flush.

“Where are the boys?” he inquires.

I flick my eyes at the window, and he turns his head to find the answer to his question. “Ah.” He looks back at me and smiles. As always, it’s warm, convivial, earnest. I can’t help but offer one in return. “I guess I slept pretty deeply,” he says, crossing to the desk where his computer sits open.

“Despite not tucking yourself in,” I say.

He glances down at himself, spots himself, and blushes. Then, he closes his eyes, bouncing on his heels.

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