Page 95 of Impossible

Risk moves behind me, and he’s gentle and slow as his hand falls over mine, his elegant fingers helping mine settle in a firm grip on the handle. “Stabbing, opening boxes, big broad cuts. Careful.” His voice is soft and sensual—for the knife or for me, I’m not sure. I shiver, then lean into his warmth.

He shifts his hand, helping my fingers grip the handle in a different configuration. “Killing blows, slitting throats, smaller slices. Safer.”

He takes the knife out of my hand and crouches behind me, his head coming to rest in the small of my back as he slides the knife back into the sheath and snaps the strap closed.

“Careful when sheathing.” He slinks back up to stand in front of me, his eyes twinkling with the double entendre. “Next time I’ll give you a gun.”

“Will Hollis be ok with that?”

His expression darkens.

“I’m sorry, I should—“

“Hollis has a gun,” he says simply, cutting me off. There’s no anger in his voice, despite the lingering shadow in his gaze. I wonder what his relationship with his pack leader is like.

A knock makes us both turn. It’s Leon, peeking his head just inside the room. He looks between me and Risk, standing only inches apart, and I realize how it must appear. Part of me wants to step back, like we could get in trouble for being so close, but without my crutches I’m powerless to move.

“Hollis and Joshua are cooking, I figured I could give Indie anactualtour of the house, then we could keep them company?“ Leon’s voice carries no hint of jealousy or disapproval for my proximity to his packmate. I watch his eyes glide down to the knife holstered on my thigh. He smiles. “I see you’ve been equipped.”

I shift, my hand coming protectively over the handle. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Very cool. You ok if I carry you? Don’t want you wearing yourself out crutching the stairs.”

I nod, fighting back my stupid grin as he comes closer and lifts me into his arms, cradling me in the way I’ve become so addicted to.

“Is this hard?” I ask. “Without your hand?”

“No. See?” I look at where his stump emerges from beneath my knees. “No hand necessary.”

I want to reach out and touch the stump, but I know it would upset him, even when the sleeve of his shirt is tucked in and concealing the puckered scar from view.

“Let’s head—“

“Show her the pack bed!” Risk cuts him off.

Leon’s cloves intensify alongside my own citrusy black tea.

“She doesn’t need to see that,” he says gruffly.

“Um, actually, I wouldn’t mind,” I shrug. “I’ve never seen one before. In person.”

Leon raises an eyebrow. The thought terrifies me, actually, but I want to know. My imagination has been running wild with me and I want to ground my fantasies and fears in something real. Something thatisn’tLeon Midas. A physical place seems like a safe-ish middle ground.

“Ok,” he acquiesces, carefully bending us through the door so my feet and head don’t get knocked. “But it isn’t clean. We’ve been, uh, sleeping in there, for the past few nights.”

“So, you all have rooms, but you also sleep in the pack bed?”

“Mmhm,” Risk nods, walking backwards in front of us. “Pack bed is better.”

He opens the doorway at the top of the landing and Leon carries me over the threshold.

The scent that hits me is a brick wall. The guys are all over the house—Risk’s room dripped of amber woodsmoke, and Hollis is strong in the kitchen we breezed through on our way up, piney and clean, but this is something else entirely. It’s like I’ve been dropped in a vat of their pheromones; every inch of me soaked in a sunny sensation that starts in my center and bursts outwards. A moment later, black tea and bergamot are swirling into the mix, the combination of all of us a golden glow.

I vaguely watch Risk stagger until his back hits the wall, then slide down until he’s sitting on the floor. He groans loudly. I barely even register the actual space—a massive low bed, bigger than a California king and strewn with dark grey pillows and blankets and comforters. It dominates the room, and all I can imagine is Leon setting me down there and treating me like the alphas treated their omega in the video on Thursday. Leon, who’s shuffling me in his arms uncomfortably.

“I think that’s enough pack bed,” his voice echoes from far away, and then he’s turning and we’re out of the room. I don’t even realize I’m whining until we’re in the hallway and the cleaner air cuts through the syrupy thickness in my brain.

“Oh god,” I groan when reality sets back in, burying my face in his neck even though I know it will only make his scent stronger. “Do you have de-scenter? Please tell me you have de-scenter.” I am soaking wet, my entire body throbbing with the need to go back inside. Risk is in there, waiting for me. For us.

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