Page 57 of Daddy's Mail Order Mate

“Morning Vatas.”

“News?”

“The rogues that dissolved out of the Scarlet Reed Pack are making a move.”

The dossier for that particular recent case explodes out and completely consumes my mind. I’m already calculating through all the details with this new variable thrown into the mix and grunt in displeasure. It’s a case we’ve been working on for the last year or so. Unlike the business with the Clearwater Pack that Paige had brought me in for, the situation with Scarlet Reed has been a bit more involved and prolonged. There are always issues with the power struggle and dissolution of packs, and some are more stubborn to sort out than others.

“We weren’t anticipating it this soon.”

“No. Lewis thinks they might have gotten a shadow backer of some kind. They’re setting up a base to try and encroach on Sableridge in the next few days according to our projections. We’re going to try and nip it in the bud before they can cause too much damage. I need you to mobilize ASAP.”

No, no no. Not now. I need to be here with Gwen, I need to take care of this—

I grit my teeth and brace a fist at my side.

No. I have a duty to the Council and our society. If I don’t go, others will be in peril. Not only my colleagues but civilians as well, wolves and humans alike.

As direly as I want to stay here, I need to properly use the living weapon I was made to be. Otherwise, what is the point of all the suffering I went through and the pain I’ve inflicted upon others?

“Roger. Send me the intel.”

“Already done.”

“See you there.”

“Don’t be late,” Rochester replies before dropping the call.

I lower my phone slowly. There’s no time to delay—every second can make the difference between life or death. I can’t wake her up just to leave, and I can’t spare any more time than I’ve already lost trying to figure out what I can say in some sort of message to leave for her.

I could very well die before I get back—

No.I have to live, for Rowan… For Paige… And for her.

So in the midst of my hurried preparations to grab my gear and get out the door, I take pause enough to leave a note for Gwen. I spare her sleeping body one last longing look and memorize the sound of her gentle breaths before I set off into the dark night to spill whatever blood I have to in order to come back home to her.

Chapter 18 - Gwen

Everythingis sore. That’s the first thought that hits me—because damn, my body feels like I’ve sent it through a trash compactor and laid it out to dry for jerky.

My eyes peel open and I stare at an unfamiliar ceiling. I’m a little too busy for the first minute or so to get my bearings with where I am, as all I can really do is settle in to my aching flesh and figure out how hard it’s going to be to move. With a grunt, I roll over, squinting in the morning light.

This isn’t my room. Rather, this isn’t the guest room in Thorn’s house I’ve been using. And there’s only one room in the house I haven’t gone into before: his bedroom. By the time we made it here, I wasn’t really in much of a state for admiring the decor; I was far too busy enjoying Thorn’s body tangling with mine.

I brace myself up on my arms and look around. The bed is empty and I don’t feel any lingering warmth from another body. My throat clenches and there’s a tentative spark of despair that tries to come to life. Am I really so frightened of being abandoned that this is enough to bring me close to tears? I’m a grown fucking woman. He’s probably just gone downstairs or is looking after Rowan. It does seem absolutely like him to go right from a body-destroying gauntlet of intercourse straight into being Father of the Year.

As I try to maneuver my aching body around, I feel a wet oozing between my thighs. It’s well cooled now, but serves as a vivid reminder of what we’d gotten up to. My ears flush a bit in embarrassment and I make a note to myself to go get myself cleaned up properly right away. However, when I scoot to the edge of the bed I happen to notice a yellow sticky note attachedto the baby monitor. An unintentional groan punctuates my reach to grab both—there is a lot he and I have to talk about, and chiefly is that if this is to become a pattern, I’m going to need him to pamper me into a hot bath first thing when I wake up.

If. There’s always the possibility this was just an indulgent mistake on his part. He rejected me before. Why wouldn’t he reject me again, now that he’s had his fun?

“Goddamn it Gwen,” I scold myself hoarsely.

My attention focuses back on the note, and I find that Thorn’s handwriting is as precise and formal as the man himself.

Gwen

Council business.

Be safe & watch Rowan.

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