Page 91 of Reckless Wolf

“Are you all right?” I demanded, catching her cheeks in my hand.

The pen fell out of her bloodied fingers and onto the hardwood floor with a clop, and she went limp in my arms.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, clinging to me with so much force, I could feel the faint, steady rhythm of her heart. “I really think I’m okay now.”

As footsteps raced up the stairs, I scooped her into my arms. I brushed by Petyr, Virgil, and Vivian as they watched us in confusion.

“Is she hurt?” Vivian demanded.

“No,” I said. “We’re going home. Take care of the mess in that room. There are two bodies now.”

“Two?!” Vivian cried out after me, but I was already halfway down the steps with Bianca laying against my shoulder.

“Home?” she murmured.

“Yes,” I said. “We’re going home. Where we belong.”

Chapter37

Bianca

Ibarely remembered leaving the compound, but for the fact that I was in Atlas’ arms the whole time. His smell lulled me into a sense of peace, the spicy manliness of his pheromones reminding me that he was my mate and that we were together—inseparable now.

Weren’t we?

I didn’t let my skeptical mind wander, not when he carried me, bare-chested and bare-footed, through the front door of his pristine, white mansion.

“Bee! Bee! Oh, my gods, are you hurt?!”

My sister rushed out of the living room to gawk at me, and I lifted my head off Atlas’ chest to smile at her for a moment. My face only horrified her more.

“Whose blood is that?” Dahlia shrieked, her eyes popping. “Is that—?”

“Let your sister rest,” Atlas told her firmly, striding toward the stairs. “She’s not hurt. Everything is fine.”

“Are you sure?!”

“I wouldn’t lie about that to you, Dahlia.”

I peeked over Atlas’ shoulder and met my sister’s eyes. What she saw in my face relaxed her, our twin bond comforting her in ways that words never would.

“I’ll be back down later,” I promised her, my voice hoarse.

“Have Luve run up some cold water and something to eat… in an hour,” Atlas told my sister.

Like he had said magic words, shivers coursed through me, and I allowed him to bring me to the master bathroom. He sat me down on the edge of the marble bathtub as he ran the water, nodding toward the washcloths.

“You might want to wipe yourself down before you get in,” he said.

I glimpsed myself in the mirror and gasped. No wonder Dahlia had freaked out. I was spattered with blood, my blonde mane tangled and spotted in red. The makeshift toga I’d fashioned in the bedroom was just as tarnished. I looked like something from a Greek tragedy.

I giggled, the stress of the past few days catching up with me to turn me into an overwhelmed mess of emotions.

Behind me, water poured from the silver tap heads, and the scent of lavender filled the air. Atlas wandered up behind me to place his hands on my shoulders, slipping out from the mangled sheet until it revealed my full nudity in the mirror.

Atlas turned on the shower and helped me inside first, lathering me down to scrub me free of all the day’s events before joining me, the red sliding down the drain and out of sight. My knees weakened, exhaustion kicking in. He reached over to turn off the triple headed shower.

“Come,” he urged, brushing his lips against my ear. “A warm bath is what you need. You’ll feel much better afterward.”

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