Page 43 of Arranged Wolf's Nanny
He didn’t disguise his footsteps as he went. He didn’t want Rosalia thinking he was trying to sneak up on her. He had no doubt that, after today, her own senses would be on high alert.
Indeed, when he knocked smartly on her door, he heard her intake of breath.
“Come in.”
Schooling his features into neutral passivity, he walked in, eyes scanning the room instinctively.
But it was just Rosalia, wrapped tightly in a silk robe, and his daughter nestled into her side, an open book in front of them. Eva had been on the cusp of sleep, her eyelids heavy, but at her father’s entrance, she perked up.
Rosalia placed a bookmark between the pages, closing the book gently, nudging at Eva’s sleepy body. “It’s past your bedtime, sweetheart. Why don’t you head to bed and let me talk with your father?”
Eva groaned, “Can’t I sleep in here with you?”
Rosalia laughed softly. “No, my love. Bedtime. Come on, now.”
Rick didn’t interrupt as Rosalia climbed out of bed to coax Eva to her feet, smoothing her curls back from her face with maternal softness. Eva practically melted into her gentle touch, a contented smile on her face as she soaked up Rosalia’s affection.
He swallowed, something warm twisting in his chest at the sight before him.
Unfortunately, in his current mood, the shadow of that caring emotion unfurled, whispering to him that he needed to defend. To attack whatever threatened them. His muscles bunched, and his wolf practically howled. He ground his teeth together, determined not to lose his control.
Rosalia, however, had noticed his barely-contained rage, her shoulders stiff as she encouraged Eva forward. He wanted to shout that she didn’t need to be scared. She didn’t need to fear him or his loss of control.
None of it was aimed at her.
In an effort to soothe his boiling blood, he scooped his daughter up, inhaling her sweet, sleepy scent as she yawned into his shoulder.
His cub was safe in his arms.
Rosalia was safe in this room.
He didn’t need to fight. Not right now.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said curtly to Rosalia, not waiting for her response before leaving the room, Eva already falling asleep in his arms. Nothing short of settling her into bed himself would suffice in his current state.
She was already snoring gently as he nudged open the door to her room and pulled back the covers, gently placing her down before tucking her in. He stared at her for a moment, taking in her chubby face, relaxed in sleep.
He breathed in once. Then twice.
Before he left, he couldn’t help but check her room, scenting every corner, every nook and cranny.
His wolf insisted on it.
He even opened his phone, activating the cameras and intruder alarms at the window. Normally, he didn’t bother with them, pettily annoyed at Nicolas’s technology in his house, but tonight he wanted the security. The peace of mind.
He had been like this before. Worse, even. Most recently, in the days after Red Teeth’s kidnapping of the pack females and subsequent destruction of the Pine Shadow Club. He had spent every night for a full week shifted into a wolf at night, guarding Eva’s door. He’d barely slept. It was only when Eva had tripped over him in the middle of the night and screamed loudly enough to wake the dead had he snapped out of it.
Content that Eva was safe, he gently closed her door, pausing on the landing before glancing back down the corridor towards Rosalia’s wing of the house.
She was waiting for him.
She hadn’t moved from beside her bed when he reached her doorway again. He lingered for a moment at the threshold, the memory of the last time they were alone together in her room all too fresh in his mind. With gritted teeth, he entered, careful to leave plenty of space between them, to orient his body so that she had easy access to the door, should she want it.
It was a small thing, but she was a shifter, same as him. She also ran on instinct when emotions were high.
“You wanted to talk?” he asked, keeping his arms loose at his sides.
She shifted her weight, her muscles tense, and Rick could see the silent battle she was fighting. The urge to be honest is warring with her instinct to submit.
