Page 42 of Arranged Wolf's Nanny
He didn’t bother questioning why he was quite so enraged. He didn’t particularly care. Whether it was hurt pride, bruised ego, or righteous protectiveness, it didn’t matter.
Rick was a shifter. A wolf. And a threat was a threat. An insult was an insult. It wasn’t any deeper than that.
It had been an almighty test to let Rosalia slip out from the kitchen and away from him. Whatever pretty platitudes she gave him, he could scent her fear for her father. She didn’t need to hide it, didn’t need to be ashamed of it. Rick was well aware of the terror a father could inspire. Sure, he had killed his own bastard of a father years ago and claimed the family seat, but only when the strength of his pack brothers was assured. They were, both of them,packanimals. It wasn’t natural for them to face any threat alone.
And Rosalia didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t alone anymore. He had seen flashes of her fury, her rage at her father. At herself. And he had wanted to catch her wrist as she fled past him and tell her that she could let go. She could unleash her anger. He would be right there at her side.
But he hadn’t. She wasn’t ready. And he had sworn to her that he would not touch her without her explicit consent.
That extended even to holding her hand.
She had left the party before the bonfires had worn themselves out, excusing herself to Daisy and the others before slipping away.
He stayed, watching Eva as she joined in the games with Felix’s boys and Nicolas’s daughter, nearly tripping over her own feet in her efforts to keep up with them. His daughter was happier than he had ever seen her before, and it softened the edges of his rage.
By the time everyone left, his temper had cooled into a bubbling irritation, an itch he couldn’t scratch. He wanted to run. To fight. To face the threat head-on.
But that was not possible. And so he did the next best thing.
He poured himself a drink, and he brooded alone in his office.
There was a reason Heath had visited. And it wasn’t for Eva’s birthday.
There was something more going on.
He stared into the fire, eyes narrowing as he played the memory over and over in his head. The hissed insult. Rosalia’s tears. The sharp grip on her shoulder.
Heath had wanted to corner her. No doubt for information, but the question remained: what information did he want? The Iron Walkers and the Green Mountain Pack were, at least for the time being, allies. It would be incredibly poor form for an ally to try and gather intelligence at a child’s birthday party.
Unless…unless Rosalia was in on it.
He shook his head, knocking back some of his drink. That was utterly ridiculous. She had never once shown the slightest interest in his work. The only pack events she had attended had been her own damn wedding and the birthday party today. And if her father was questioning her, it hardly seemed like she was a willing participant in the conversation.
Not every female on the planet was Zara.
He sneered at the unwelcome image of Eva’s mother that flashed through his mind. The sour bitch hadn’t even called to wish Eva a happy birthday. Why would she, when there was nothing in it for her?
Rosalia was nothing like Zara.
But still, the thought burrowed its way into his brain like a worm. What if she was acting? Playing the damsel in distress to throw him off the scent? Painting herself as John’s victim to earn his trust, his protection?
Scoffing, he knocked back the rest of his drink. Christ, he could be a suspicious bastard when he was in a bad mood.
And he was in a decidedly foul mood. His wolf was practically tearing at his skin to be released, and he rolled his shoulders back, cricking his neck.
He sprang up from his chair, pacing the floor a few times before wrenching the door open. He would check in on Eva. Perhaps that would do something to calm the incessant need pounding within his skull to defend his territory.
But when he softly opened the door to her bedroom, alarm shot through him at her empty bed. He reared back, growling sharply, fearing the worst, when his senses kicked in.
Even from across the house, he could hear her. She was in the East Wing.
With Rosalia.
Rick’s hands balled into fists.
He hadn’t wanted to see Rosalia. Not when he was like this. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.
But his need to check on his daughter was greater, adrenaline still pumping through his veins at his earlier panic. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned down the corridor.
