Page 3 of Forbidden Love

“I must’ve hit my head on the gutter when it pulled completely off the house,” she muttered, more annoyed than concerned.

“Ah, ya think?” Hunter snapped, exasperation clear in his voice as he pulled out his phone.

Brock’s eyes narrowed, irritation prickling beneath his skin. He didn’t like Hunter’s tone, not one damn bit. And what was worse, he didn’t like that he was feeling this way at all. Fuck.

“I’m calling Emily,” Hunter huffed, already dialing.

Deb’s head snapped up, fire flashing in those green eyes. “Do not call my sister,” she warned, her voice low and edged with steel. She swiped at the blood, smearing it across her forehead and into her tangled blonde hair like she couldn’t care less. “It’s just a scratch.”

Brock had seen enough injuries in his life to know that was a damn lie. And despite every instinct telling him to stay out of it, to walk away, he found himself stepping closer.

"Sit down," he ordered, his deep voice leaving no room for argument. "Let me see."

Deb scowled up at him, defiance written all over her face. "I said I'm fine."

Brock arched a brow, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Yeah? Well, humor me."

For a moment, it looked like she was going to keep fighting, but then, with a heavy sigh, she dropped onto the porch steps. Brock crouched beside her, reaching out to tilt her chin. The moment his fingers brushed her skin, a jolt of awareness shot through him, unexpected and unwelcome. He ignored it. He had to.

"You need this cleaned," he murmured, focusing on the wound instead of the way her pulse thrummed beneath his fingertips. "And you need to stop being so damn stubborn."

Deb snorted, wincing slightly as Brock’s thumb brushed just beneath the cut. "Yeah, well, that’s the personality I was dealt.”

Brock felt a grin tug at his lips at her sharp response but chose not to comment. Instead, he focused on the wound. “You don’t need stitches, but you better get something on it. Those gutters were rusty as hell. Have you had a tetanus shot?”

“I have,” she replied, her eyes widening slightly as if surprised he even asked.

“What?” Brock cocked a brow at her questioning look. “Just because Shifters don’t need human medication doesn’t mean I don’t know about them.”

“Yeah, Deb,” Hunter added as he hoisted himself onto the roof. “We’re not ignorant.”

Deb shot him a glare, crossing her arms. “Some who know you would argue that fact.” A beat of silence passed before she exhaled heavily, shaking her head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, you did,” Hunter smirked from above, peering down at her with amusement.

“Dammit, Hunter.” Deb threw up her hands, frustration flashing across her face. “I’m trying to be nice, and you just make it too damn hard some days.”

“I know.” Hunter’s laughter echoed down as he disappeared over the roof’s edge.

“Asshole,” Deb muttered under her breath.

Brock heard her loud and clear and let out a deep chuckle. “You two always like this?”

Deb sighed, brushing her hands down her jeans. “Pretty much.” Then, after a pause, she added, “But he’s a good guy and good to my sister.” Her voice softened slightly, reluctant but genuine.

Brock tilted his head, studying her for a moment. There was something raw about her now, something real that peeked through all the walls she kept up.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he murmured before realizing he was saying it.

Deb blinked up at him, momentarily speechless. For a flicker of a second, something unguarded passed across her face—something raw and vulnerable—but just as quickly, it was gone. She straightened, lifting her chin as if reinforcing her armor.

“Yeah, well, stick around this town long enough, and you’ll learn how wrong that statement is,” she muttered, her voice laced with something he couldn’t quite place.

Brock didn’t stop her as she turned on her heel and walked up the steps, but he didn’t miss the way her shoulders sagged just a little, as if the weight of something unseen pressed down on her. He’d seen plenty of tough exteriors in his lifetime, worn enoughof them himself to know that sometimes, they were the only thing keeping a person from crumbling.

And damn if it didn’t make him want to know what—or who—had made Deb Snodgrass believe she wasn’t worth something better.

Cursing under his breath, Brock backed up a step before using his strength and pent-up frustration to launch himself onto the roof with an effortless jump. His boots landed solidly on the shingles, the motion grounding him even as his mind still lingered on Deb.

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