Page 44 of Kidnapped By the Wolf

It happens so fast and so fluidly that it might have been a trick of the light. Sebastian stands at least twice as tall as a mundane wolf, and his fur is so black he blends right into the dark.

“You know what to do,” Adrian growls at his wolf. “I’m taking my mate home.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CASSIE

I’m soexhausted that I fall asleep the moment Adrian puts me in the car. The jostling of the rough dirt road rouses me after a while, and I open my eyes.

The windows of his A-frame are glowing through the trees, and the sight fills me with warmth.

Glancing over at him, I don’t see the fierce alpha who burst into the camper and rescued me half an hour ago. I see a battle-weary man.

His eyes have returned to that warm brown color, though they are still flecked with gold. Beneath the five o’clock shadow, he looks tense and haggard. His face and hands are streaked with blood, and it’s caked in his short hair.

The change in my breathing seems to alert him that I’m no longer asleep, and he turns toward me.

Immediately, that haunted look vanishes — replaced by such immense relief and devotion that it completely knocks the wind out of me.

“We’re home.”

Home.

It’s a loaded word for me. I’ve never had a real home — a place where I felt safe and loved. My father always put a roof over my head, but he made sure I understood that his protection was conditional.

Even after I left the pack, I never felt safe or settled. I was always just one wrong move from being back under my father’s thumb and treated like dirt.

He’s dead now, I remind myself. It still doesn’t seem real, but I don’t feel even a twinge of sadness. I feel . . . relief.

Maybe it was my time away from the pack. Or maybe it was seeing the way Adrian cares for his wolves. But I’ve realized that sharing DNA with a man doesn’t make him family, just as violence and intimidation don’t make an alpha.

Family is supposed to love you unconditionally, and an alpha is supposed to protect what’s his.

We’re home.

Coming from Adrian, those two words take on a whole new meaning.

“Home,” I whisper, offering a weak smile.

An aching tenderness flashes through his eyes before he comes around to my side and scoops me into his arms. The moon has risen. It’s full tonight, and the silvery light threads through the trees, casting long shadows over the ground.

Everything in the cabin is exactly where it was when I left this morning, including the ukulele resting on the bedside table. Adrian sets me gently on the edge of the mattress and goes over to start the fire.

As I watch him patiently bunch twigs underneath a few larger sticks, I pick up the beautiful instrument and begin to strum a familiar melody. At first, all I can do is hum the lyrics, but then the words begin to flow from my lips, my voice cracking on each note.

One foot in and one foot back

But it don’t pay to live like that

So I cut the ties and I jumped the tracks

For never to return

I’m halfway through the song when I realize Adrian is no longer fiddling with the fire. He’s kneeling on the hardwood floor, listening to me sing. His eyes are bright with a sweet kind of sadness and the sort of acceptance that makes tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

Three words that became hard to say

I, and love, and you

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