Page 71 of Arranged Wolf's Nanny
With a slightly pained grin, he pressed a kiss to her lips, “It’s been known to happen on occasion.”
“I know this is frustrating,” she said after a beat, chewing her lower lip, “but think of it this way. The Black Claws are going to declare war one way or another. And while things may not have gone exactly to plan, I’d be willing to bet the other packs will hesitate before even thinking of joining them against you. You nearly defeated them on a contract’s technicality.”
He sighed, eyes narrowing. “They’ll think it’s petty. Desperate. It was always a risk.”
“They won’t,” said Rosalia, “at least, the smart ones won’t. Thesmartones will be wondering what you’ve got against them.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And the stupid ones?”
She laughed, poking him in the chest. “They’ll be too scared of your tone of voice to even begin worrying about the words you use.”
He didn’t respond, his chest tightening at the honesty in her words, the unquestioning faith. Something in his gaze must have shown his raw emotion, because she softened into him, reaching up to cup his jaw. “They haven’t won, Rick. They’ve only delayed you.”
Rick stared at her, at this woman who had been thrust into his world against her will, who had every reason to cower, and yet had found the strength to stand firm at his side. “How are you calm about this?”
“Not calm,” she corrected softly, “just…practiced. I learned a lot from my father’s rage. And my own.”
Her father. John Heath, spitting venom in the lobby, delighting in her fear. Rick’s jaw tightened at the memory.
“I should’ve ripped his throat out,” he muttered.
Rosalia flinched, just barely, but then her chin lifted. “If you had, it would’ve been exactly what he wanted. He’d have turned it against you.”
Rick growled, “When will you let me kill him?”
“Not tonight,” she said wryly. “I don’t fancy getting dressed again.”
For a long moment, they stood in quiet, the city’s hum muffled by thick glass, Eva’s steady breathing faint through the wall.
“She’s so brave,” Rosalia said quietly, resting her head against his chest. “I’m glad she can sleep after all that.” She glanced at him then, eyes searching his face, “She takes after you.”
Rick stilled, every defense rising at once. Compliments made him wary; he’d learned long ago they often hid daggers.But Rosalia’s voice carried no guile, no angle. Just an open invitation.
His throat felt rough. “She’s better than me.”
“No.” Rosalia shook her head, strands of dark hair catching the lamplight. “She is you. The best parts of you. She sees the world as safe because you make it so.”
He looked away, swallowing hard. The words scraped something raw inside him, something he hadn’t let himself touch in years.
“I can’t afford to fail her,” he said finally.
“You won’t,” Rosalia replied, certain as stone.
Her certainty unnerved him more than her father’s venom, more than the Black Claws’ mockery. Because a part of him wanted to believe it.
He leaned back, letting his eyes close briefly. “I’m tired.”
“So rest,” she murmured. “For tonight, let it go.”
Rick opened his eyes again, meeting hers. Something in her gaze caught him, steady, unafraid, the faintest spark of warmth beneath her careful mask.
For the first time in too long, he felt the edge of his fury soften.
The room was quiet but charged, every tick of the clock on the mantel drawing them deeper into something neither dared name.
But with Eva in the next room, and his ebbing temper leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake, he knew that he would have to give in to sleep.
“Come,” he said, stroking her cheek, “let’s go to bed.”
