Page 67 of Fragile Heart

“Not this time. But someone was mean to Brielle, and Caleb is very protective of her.” Logan’s voice drops even lower, nearly a whisper. Rose’s eyes widen and shoot to me before looking over at Ethan. She taps Logan’s hand, and he leans over her.

The sounds of Camden and Emily wading through the water cover whatever she asks him.

“Bri!” Camden calls, waving. “Emily and I found a cool spot. Can I show you?”

Bless that kid for never realizing exactly what’s going on with the adults around him. I ease out of Caleb’s arms even as his growl continues.

“Hold up,” Hudson says. “There’s a part of this story I’m missing. Why the hell is Caleb ready to kill someone? What kind of lying are we talking about?”

Faedra and Melissa sigh in unison.

“Sorry,” Melissa says, her voice contrite. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I shrug and ease out of Caleb’s shirt I’ve been using as a cover-up. He raises an eyebrow as I drop it into his lap, his growl cutting off all at once. His eyes darken, and a new wave of cinnamon overlays the smells of the lake. Olivia shakes her head as she chuckles.

“Brielle?” Faedra asks.

With a single shake of my head, I start toward the lakeshore. The water is cold despite the warm summer afternoon. As Emily hops off the paddle board, I glance over my shoulder and focus on Hudson. It takes all my control to not let my eyes slide just a couple feet to the left where Ethan stands, his growl still reverberating through the group.

“Lying that destroyed my marriage,” I say. Hudson’s frown deepens.

Before he can say anything else, I turn back around and ease myself onto the paddle board, staying on my knees to keep the risk of falling lower. Camden smiles.

“You ready?” he asks.

When I nod, he turns around and points to a rock outcropping a few hundred feet to the left. I don’t look over my shoulder even as Ethan’s growl grows louder.

Chapter Thirty

BRIELLE

The unsettling need that’s slowly dissipated over the last couple weeks comes roaring back on the drive back to Creek Falls. By the time I’ve gotten out of the shower and started the laundry from the camping trip, it’s bad enough I’m ready to tear apart the entire guest house. I drop onto the bed, burying my head in the one pillow that still has a bit of Caleb’s cinnamon scent on it. Instead of calming me, it just sets the itchy, relentless need burrowing deeper.

There’s no denying the one scent I’m craving right now. Not to myself at least.

If Ethan had been scarce before he’d lifted me onto a picnic table and kissed me breathless in the middle of the Wyoming wilderness, then he’s practically gone invisible in the forty-eight hours since. Not even the small confines of the campsite was enough to get us close enough that I could try to figure out how to bring up the way my body sings for him—the hard reality that he’s likely my scent match, too. Just like Caleb.

Heat surges through me, and I groan, dropping my head into the pillow.

I won’t pull out a vibrator. Not yet. Not for him. Not when the only memories I have of him saying a damn thing to me are still a decade old. Even if he’s meant for me, designed for me. Even if his mint haunts my fucking dreams right now.

Lavender floods the room, overpowering the purifier I have running in the corner.

Damn it.

Distraction is paramount right now.

It’s like the universe hears me because the dryer’s signal weaves through the cabin. I jump up and set about getting the clothes put away, forcing thoughts of Ethan and his damnable mint scent out of my frazzled mind.

A single knock on the closed door of the guest house pulls me from my thoughts—that are definitelynotabout a certain damn Alpha with tattooed arms and a beard that could be used for modeling. I drop the dress I’ve been putting away for the last few minutes onto the bed and cross the small cabin, adjusting my shirt dress and pulling my hair over one shoulder so that it covers the dark bruise Caleb left on it early this morning.

My thighs clench as I open the door.

Caleb leans against the threshold, his hands in his pockets, his hair still damp from a shower.

“I thought you had to go back as soon as we were done at the lake,” I whisper, forgetting a greeting.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. He pushes off the threshold and palms my waist, his cinnamon scent surrounding me. His voice is nothing but raspy hunger. “But I needed to say goodbye properly first.”

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