Page 32 of Pack Obsession

I study the way her lips form each word. The genuine curiosity in her expression makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

"We’re retrievers, not thieves." The distinction feels important. "We take back what was taken."

"So, like Robin Hood?" A smile plays at the corners of her mouth, and I want to taste it. Want to know if she tastes as sweet as she smells.

The laugh that escapes me is genuine this time.

"Not quite." I roll my shoulders. "We have specific criteria. Legitimate claims only." I wait for her curious reaction carefully as I continue. "Sometimes, it’s family heirlooms stolen by corrupt collectors, pieces of history that belong in museums or with their rightful owners, not locked away in some billionaire’s private vault."

Her eyes sharpen. "What else?"

"It could be evidence of wrongdoing that powerful people have buried. Proof of crimes they thought they could hide behind their money and influence." I take a slow sip of whiskey, remembering. "We had a case last month, a corporation stealing research from a cancer scientist, burying treatments that could save lives because they weren’t profitable enough."

"Did you get it back?" She leans forward slightly, caught up in the story.

"Always do." The pride in my tone has her smiling again, and something in my chest tightens. "A restaurant owner approached us last year. Local crew was demanding protection money, and took his grandfather’s war medals as collateral. Real pieces of work."

"You got them back?"

"Mhmm." I don’t mention the satisfaction of watching those thugs realize they’d picked the wrong target. "No innocent casualties. That’s one of our rules. No killing either, unless it’s self-defense."

"Bet you charge a lot," she guesses, those clever eyes taking in our surroundings. The expensive furniture, the high-end security system, the quality of everything around us.

"Good work isn’t cheap. Neither is top-tier security."

Her eyes are starting to drift closed despite her obvious interest. "So you’re like... professional karma?"

That startles another laugh from me. "Something like that. Sometimes people need a reminder that money doesn’t make them gods."

She fights against sleep, stirring and blinking a lot, but her eyelids are growing heavier. "That actions have consequences, even for the rich and powerful."

"‘s good," she mumbles, sliding deeper into her pillows. "Someone should... make them pay..."

"Sleep," I murmur. "I’ll keep the nightmares away."

She fights it for a moment, then her breathing deepens, evens out, and I’m caught once again in her gravity. In the way her lips part slightly, the way her hair spills across the pillow, the way her hand curls loosely near her face. The blanket has slid down, revealing the elegant line of her collarbone once more, and Imemorize every detail like a dying man committing to memory his last sunrise.

I’m starting to wonder who needs saving more—her from her nightmares or me from this hunger that grows with every passing second. This need to possess, to protect, to claim what every instinct tells me is mine.

I’m starting to suspect there’s no salvation for either of us. No escape from this being pulled together.

The night surrounds us as I settle in to guard over her sleep, guarding this most precious treasure. And somewhere in the darkness, I know the monster inside me is smiling because we both know it’s only a matter of time before I stop fighting this inevitable collision.

Only a matter of time before I claim what’s mine.

Chapter

Ten

CASEY

The sand scorches my feet as I madly rush along the beach. Salt spray stings my eyes, but I don’t slow down. Can’t slow down. The waves crash alongside me, my heartbeat thundering, but they can’t wash this away. Nothing can wash this away.

Julian’s laughter follows me down the shoreline, carried on the wind. "You can’t run away from me Casey."

I stumble. The sand shifts beneath my feet, no longer solid. Dark hands reach up from the depths, grabbing, pulling. His fingers close around my throat?—

My eyes snap open as I gasp for air, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard, it hurts. Sheets tangle around my legs like grasping hands, and for one terrifying moment, I don’t know where I am. The light is wrong. The ceiling’s too high. Nothing makes?—

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