Page 32 of Fated to the Warrior Wolf

“Oh, look at you, baby!” I cooed as I scooped it up and held it to my chest. “How did you get into a house full of big bad wolves? Aren’t you scared?” I stroked the tiny creature’s forehead with my index finger, since it was too small for a whole-hand pet.

It was instant love, and I bundled it—him, a quick check showed me—against my chest as I swung the door shut and flipped the lights on.

“You are a precious little nugget, aren’t you?” He purred contentedly in my hands, and I was hooked. I didn’t know or care where he came from, but unless he had a very adamant owner, I was keeping him.

I sat back on the edge of the bed, pondering my new and unexpected charge, when a fluorescent bit of paper on the nightstand caught my eye.

I shifted little Nugget into my left hand so I could grab it.

Leigh,

Kane called a pack meeting in his office on the second floor. If you feel up to it, join us when you’re ready. If not, I’ll be back with food as soon as it’s done.

Gael

There was a gap above his name, as if he’d hesitated abouthow to sign the note. Something about that pause, the indecision, had my stomach fluttering with butterflies.

Okay, so it was more like an elephant stampede, if I was honest.

I was having a baby with this man, and it was complicated. Trying to make something more happen between us was only going to add to the emotional tsunami I now lived in called pregnancy hormones.

He was tempting, oh, so tempting. I could get lost in his strength—push all the worry and stress and what-ifs off onto those big, broad shoulders. But was that fair? He hadn’t signed up for this. Granted, he was being wonderful now that we’d gotten over the first hurdle, but…

I shook my head, setting the note back down where I’d found it, and petted Nugget’s back with both hands.

There wasn’t anything I could do about that right this second. But I could find the kitchen and get some things for Nugget. If the chef could whip up fresh-pressed juices, surely he could also find me a can of tuna or something my little nuggie could stomach.

I eyed the note, wavering. I had no desire to go get embroiled in pack politics right this second. And if he went down for food, he’d find me.

But the note was also a gesture—one he definitely hadn’t owed me—and I wanted to return it. So I quickly riffled through both nightstands until I found the pad he’d used, and scrawled a note of my own on it.

Gone to the kitchen. Be back in a few.

XO,

Leigh

I instantly regretted the XO.I mean, we’d done a lot more than hug and kiss, obviously. But… I didn’t want him to think I was giving him girlfriend vibes. Vibes that he likely had no interest in, given we weren’t mates, and that was a long walk right off the end of heartbreak pier.

Blowing out a breath, I shook my head and left the note as it was. I couldn’t overthink every single aspect of this, or I’d lose my mind before Petal even got here. With Nugget still tucked against my chest, I slipped out into the hall and toward the dining room. I’d seen it very briefly on a tour this morning, but we’d opted to spend the morning on the patio soaking up the sun.

It was cooler here than back home, but not quite Alaska levels, and the fresh air helped with the morning sickness. Being cooped up with food smells wasn’t currently my idea of a good time, but the little purring tabby in my hands was worth the risk.

I walked through the ornate dining room and through the swinging doors into the kitchen. It was all industrial, with stainless steel appliances and long, oversized prep tables.

“Excuse me,” I said, catching the first person in a chef jacket who walked by. “I found a kitten, and I was wondering if I could get a bowl for some water, and if you had anything for him to eat? Maybe some canned tuna?” I held Nugget aloft, and the chef blanched as the little mite hissed at him.

“Nugget, no, sir!” I scolded and tucked him back away. “I don’t know why he did that. He’s been super sweet since I found him at my door.”

“I’ll see what we have, but can you take him out of here? No animals in the kitchen.” The chef—Armand, according to his name embroidered on the breast of the coat—smiled tightly and pointed toward the door.

“Sure, sorry.” I mumbled my apology and backed out the door. When I banged into a solid chest, I froze.

“Oh, there you are!”

An unfamiliar masculine voice laughed over my shoulder, freezing me in place.

“Where did you find him?”

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