Page 9 of Her Wolf

“I won’t tolerate jealousy. Not from you—” she turned and looked at Lars “—or from you.”

She sat back, hugged herself, and glanced between the two men. “I don’t want you to leave, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay, either.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the aquarium bubbling behind her. Lars stared at it, but Finn’s eyes were fixed on her. When she turned to him, she expected anger. Or, at least, nothing short of frustration. After all, she was asking him to share her with two other guys. One was his best friend—and she wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse—and the other pretty much an enemy. And, if not an enemy, then definitely a stranger.

But how could she explain to them what she felt? How her heart sang when she looked at Finn, filled with warmth whenever Lars was around, and felt ready to burst when Bailey held her?

She’d like to think this was all some small recompense for everything she’d suffered as a child. Hell…maybe there was more suffering to come in payment for these hedonistic desires.

But if she’d learned anything in the past two months of her life, it was that death was as close to anyone as their own shadow, and it followed them as religiously, ready to claim them when the last light trickled from their lives.

“I don’t expect an answer now,” Cora said, when neither man looked willing to speak. “But I need you to know where I stand.” She tilted her head toward Lars. “And thank you. I think I finally got what you were saying about…taking charge.”

“That was you?” Finn said, his voice tight.

Lars grinned, but it had a forced look to it. “Did you want Cora to start whipping us in the bedroom too?”

Finn made an unhappy sound in the back of his throat, but didn’t argue.

Cora stared at him, her lips parting. “You don’t think I’ve got it in me, do you?”

Finn sighed heavily, and rubbed his eyelids with his fingers. “Cora, I—”

“You think I’ll fuck this up.”

“Language, young lady,” Lars murmured, but he sounded as if he was enjoying the fact that her attention had turned back to Finn. She gave him the finger without looking away from Finn.

“Be honest, Finn. You think I can’t handle being capo.”

When Finn took his fingers away from his eyes, he looked tired. Worn down. Almost resigned. “I’ll stay at your side, no matter—”

“Answer me!” She got to her feet, taking a step closer to him. “You just said I have to figure out who to trust. How can I trust you if you don’t believe in me?”

His face hardened. Slowly, he rose, which meant she had to crane her head to look up at him. It wasn’t his fault—he was just huge—but it felt like he’d done it on purpose.

Trying to look down your nose at someone didn’t work when they were more than a foot taller than you.

“If you’d asked me two days ago, I would have said no.”

Her stomach grew tight. Her mouth opened, ready with a retort, but Finn slid his fingers around the back of her neck and brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips.

“But that was before you stabbed that motherfucker through the heart on your own wedding day. And then sliced his throat.”

“Don’t forget about the eye,” Lars added. “She had that knife through his eyeball like a Margarita olive on a toothpick.”

Relief washed through her like a warm champagne wave. Her lips trembled into a smile, and she nestled her head into Finn’s cupped hand.

“So yes, Dona Cora,” Finn murmured. “I believe in you.”

Her vision became blurry, but she blinked away her tears before they could fall. Her chest was so tight, it felt as if it would split open. She tried saying something, but her throat had closed.

Finn must have noticed—he kissed her.

She swooned against him, sliding her hands up his chest and gripping his shoulders. He hoisted her up, urging her legs around his waist, and moved his lips to her ear.

“But just because I believe in you doesn’t mean I’ll always agree with you,” he whispered.

She drew back, glaring at him. “But I’m—”

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