Page 5 of Stealing Sloane

Sloan disentangled herself from her sister. “Yeah, it’s me,” she sighed. “So, uh, sorry about swiping at you and knocking you out like that. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“You’d have finished me off or run away while I was unconscious. And?—”

“Cliff! What the fuck?—”

Sloane’s head whipped around toward the intruder. Her eyes were taking longer to focus at distant objects thanks to the knock to her head, so she could only see a large, fuzzy figure.

“There’s … you … two …”

“We’re naked, pervert!” Sloane screamed. “Turn the fuck around!”

The blur spun around. “Cliff?”

Cliff? Who the fuck was Cliff?Blinking several times, her eyesight finally cleared, and Sloane followed her sister’s head as it turned toward another hulking figure a few feet away.

“What are you doing here?” Stella said, her tone chilly.

“Stella … sweetheart …” He walked over to them, then handed something—a shirt—to Stella, who gave him a murmur of thanks.

As he came closer, Sloane couldn’t help but think he looked familiar. Her gaze dropped lower, and she couldn’t help but whistle at the sight of his chiseled chest and rock-hard eight-pack. “Hey now.”

A soft growl emanated from Stella and she did a double take. Despite her sister’s earlier cold reception, it was obvious this hunk meant something to her. “Whoops, sorry. Didn’t mean to encroach.”

“You’re not,” Stella denied.

“You probably have questions,” the hunk—Cliff said. “And so do I, obviously.”

“Me too,” piped in the blur—man—from earlier.

Sloane’s head snapped back toward the man, whose back was still turned to them. While he wasn’t as tall or bulky as Cliff, he was still quite large, and she could confirm he was definitely a Lycan.

“Jacob, give the lady your shirt,” Cliff interrupted.

“Mine? Why?”

Heat crept up her neck and face as she remembered how naked and vulnerable she was. “Because there’s no one else here, and I’m showing my hoo-ha and tatas to the world,” she grumbled.

Before she could say anything else, a shirt dropped over her head. She was going to protest but took a whiff, inhaling the most delicious scent she’d ever smelled in her entire life—clean, fresh-cut grass. But there was also a strange note to the scent—like a burnt edge. Whatever it was, it made her knees weak, and all she wanted to do was roll around in that scent forever.

“Do you need help?” Stella asked.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” She dressed in the shirt, which thankfully covered all her bits and bobs.

“So …” Stella began as she helped her up. “Uh …”

“Sloane,” she introduced herself. “My name is Sloane.”

“Sloane? Sloane what?” Stella asked. “I mean, what’s your last name?”

“Don’t got one.” She pulled the neck of the shirt aside, revealing a wolf head tattoo.

“You’re a Lone Wolf,” the man—Jacob said.

“Ding, ding, ding!” Sloane clapped. “Give the man a prize.” Now that her vision had returned to normal, she turned her head back toward him, curious as to what he looked like.

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