Page 30 of Taken By The Wolves
Nixon pulled me aside earlier, instructing me to stall Scarlet from making a final order. Once that's done, she has no more reason to stay. But knowing Finn, he'll want to meet all her needs. He has trouble saying no.
It's delicate, this dance we're doing. She wants to finalize and go home, and Nixon intends to give her time to develop feelings for us and be certain of her choice before we claim her and make her ours forever.
Hope is a tricky thing. It slips in as soft as sawdust, and before you know it, you're building castles in your head.
I never thought I'd want something this badly, but Scarlet is hot as a wildfire, and I'm ready to burn.
So, I set the plan in motion, sweeping my gaze over thestacked beams as I say, “We've got a special delivery of reclaimed cherry, oak, and maple due in tomorrow or the day after. It's worth waiting for, right? We can draft your list now, from the stock we have, and do a final walk-through when the new stock arrives.”
Scarlet looks at her list and the yard piled high with lumber and seems torn. When her eyes return to me, they're slightly narrowed, assessing. Is it a stalling tactic, she's thinking? Or could she be missing out on some excellent wood?
I grin at the innuendo. Between Nixon, Reed, and me, we'd show her the kind of wood she's only dreamed about experiencing. Mate bonding sex is like nothing else. I wish I could tell her without terrifying her. Right now, any kind of confession would send her running from the big bad wolves who want to eat her up.
“A draft list… we can do that.”
Relief washes through me. That was easier than I thought.
We head to the big shed, her heels crunching softly on the gravel. She unfolds her notebook, and I lean in close, watching as she writes dimensions, finishes, and grain details. Nixon stands nearby, arms folded, tense from the sweet scent of our mate that lingers. I watch Scarlet relax into the process, her brow smoothing and appetite sharpening.
She discusses furniture with Finn, and I smile as they bond over carving and varnish techniques, and passion swells between them. As we finish the draft list, our hands brush as she flips a page, lingering long enough to make me smile some more.
***
The drive home is quietly comfortable. We crawl through the narrow road as trees arch above us like sentries. Scarlet spends the time looking at her phone with an adorable V between her brows.
As we pull into the cabin's clearing, Nixon halts, lifts his head, nostrils flaring in an animal silence. “Finn.” Without a word, Finn opens the door and walks into the forest, leaving Scarlet staring after him. I step out of the vehicle and open her door, using my body to block her view of Finn, who is shifting to investigate the stench of an unfamiliar wolf that's woven around our home.
My eyes meet Nixon's over the truck, as he turns to smile at Scarlet. “I've been dreaming about those muffins all day.”
She glances over her shoulder, then back at Nixon. Her lips part, but she must decide against asking the question that lingers on her tongue because she follows us inside.
In the kitchen, I slide onto a stool as Scarlet unpacks ingredients from our well-stocked pantry: flour, sugar, and baking soda. She finds butter and eggs in the fridge, apples on the counter. Finally, she turns in my direction. “Vanilla? Cinnamon?”
“We have both.”
“I'm impressed.”
“We may be bachelors, but that doesn't mean we're incompetent heathens.”
“Who bakes when I'm not around?”
“Finn mostly,” I admit. “He has a sweet tooth.”
“It's a disgrace,” Nixon says, with an armful of meat. I know he wants to follow up withwhat kind of wolf prefers brownies to steak, but he can't.
Scarlet snorts and sets to preparing muffins from a recipe in her pretty head and fills the cabin with sweetness.Nixon and I prepare the fire pit, positioning the grill and cleaning vegetables. We tease about where we learned to cook: me, on weekend camping trips with my cousins; him, perfectionism taught by our mother. We laugh about how men always seem to gravitate to meat. “It's savage,” Scarlet says, but her eyes tell a different story, lingering as I turn a steak slowly to get the char just right. Wine flows, deep red and heavy in our glasses, like foreplay.
Midway through muffin baking and steak sizzling, the front door clicks, and Finn slips back in, his wolf fur sleek and black, gold wolf eyes softening when he looks at Scarlet. She gasps, stepping back, heart thudding, until I step forward to pat Finn's broad, damp shoulders. Scarlet straightens as though she's winning an internal battle to be brave. When Finn pads toward her and nuzzles her hand, the transformation in Scarlet is beautiful. Fear shifts to wonder, and strength sparks in her stance. She leans over, brushing his muzzle, and his tail flicks with gratitude. Nixon watches with the intensity of an alpha in wait.
“Where did it come from?” Scarlet asks. “Does it live outside? Does it belong to someone else?”
“Looks like it wants to belong to you,” I laugh.
She smiles almost shyly. “My apartment's barely big enough for me, let alone a giant animal. I think my super would have something to say about it. Pretty sure giant wolf-dogs are excluded from my rental agreement.”
I don't want to think about her in a tiny apartment, far away from us.
Wolf-Finn whines, making Scarlet jump, then he pads back out of the cabin. When she attempts to follow, I gently grip her elbow. “Let him go,” I say. “He likes to roam free.”
