Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine

Chapter 36

I have no heightened senses without my wolf and yet as I approach my apartment and open the door,

I’m immediately calm.

My body recognizes Jay’s presence before I see him.

He’s in the kitchen. Sitting at the table. Arms crossed. I can’t read his expression. And I’m not ready to

talk about things.

“I, uh, I’ll get dinner started in a moment. I just need to shower first.”

Jason grabs hold of my hand. “You’re soaking wet and it isn’t raining.”

I bite my lip.

He reaches out gently and touches my shirt where it’s torn. “How did this happen?”

The question’s delivered in an even tone, but I know better. He’s furious.

I don’t say anything.

”Sister, did something happen to you today?"

I can’t meet his eyes. And I know if lie to him, I’ll destroy what trust there is between us.

I soundlessly try to move past him into the bathroom, but he catches my hand.

I wince.

Jason rubs the wound.

The dime-sized hole is swollen and bleeding.

Compliments of one well-placed stiletto heel and a hundred and twenty pounds of malice.

“What about this?” Jason asks. “Is this an occupational hazard from work too?”

I stare at the back of my right hand, at the spot where Maria stepped on today.

Jason stares fixedly at me. "Sister, if someone bullies you, you need to tell me.”

I will not embroil Jay in my mess.

For a moment my heart pounds hard, because the way Jay stares at me, it’s like he’s daring me to lie

to him and I don’t want to hurt him by doing that.

But I can’t burden him with my drama.

“Just tell me and I will stand up for you,” he says.

“I know you will.”

And that’s the problem.

In that instant, I realize my time with Jay is limited.

Inevitably, this fight with my past will seep into this new life I’m trying to build for myself and when it

does, it’ll endanger Jason too.

I pull my hand from his and escape to the bathroom.

I turn on the water so he won’t hear me crying.

When I join Jay back in the kitchen, I’m more in control of my emotions.

I bandaged my hand, dressed in warm clothes and dried my hair.

I plaster a bright smile on my face. “What do you think, pasta tonight? Or maybe a quiche?

“What I think is something happened today and you’re purposely not telling me about it.”

I sigh. “You’re right.

“And?”

I come closer to him until I stand right in front of him. Then I take his hands in mine. I can’t describe the

sensation. There are prickles of awareness and heat spreading from our palms, but more than that,

there’s a sense of rightness.

I squeeze his hands.

“I need you to trust me, brother. I want very much for my past to stay there. But it won’t always will. And

I won’t let you fight battles we can’t win.”

“You can’t know that,” he says quietly.

“There’s no world in which you’re worth the risk.” I tug him into the kitchen. “Now, back to dinner…what

will it be?”

I’m trying hard to hold it together. I’m a hairsbreadth away from losing it. That attack today…it was

terrifying.

I thought prison had been bad, and I’d consoled myself with the knowledge that when I got out, I’d

finally be safe.

But that was stupid on my behalf.

I’ve never been in more danger.

And I have more enemies than I realized.

* * * * * * * * * * *

JASON

We make pasta for dinner and eat in amicable silence.

I like the quiet and it’s calming to have Grace here. Her presence is …easy. I need to run. To shift and

let my wolf free because it was everything in me not to tear Greg Anders to shreds today and that punk

ass Sean Stevens as well.

Which is just…ridiculous.

Greg, obviously, deserved to get his ass kicked. Bullying a woman and assaulting her as he had with

Grace. That is not acceptable. Period.

I’ll get a full accounting from my beta, but from the sounds I heard coming from the ballroom, I trust that

Terrence handled things as I would have.

Good.

But there are larger issues here.

Those two women. Sean. Lily. Grace’s own family.

There’s a target on her back and I suspect I played a role in putting it there in the first place.

Because I’m the highest Alpha in this region and lesser wolves will do anything to get into my good

graces. Even going so far as to hurt someone because they think that will please me.

I stay under the shower for a long while—the water is barely tolerable it’s so f*cking cold, but even that

is welcome.

My temper’s been running too hot.

And seeing Grace …the fact that I got here and she wasn’t…and then the time I spent sitting here,

waiting, it only made my blood run hotter.

As I dress and go back out to see her. I’m stopped in my tracks. All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

She’s in the kitchen. Sitting with only one light on, sewing her work shirt. Anyone else would’ve thrown

it out, but she’s trying desperately to salvage the damn thing.

Seeing it…I see red all over again.

It’s a reminder of what happened at the country club.

Grace hums some nameless tune.

Her head is lowered, her hair hangs loosely over her shoulders. I recall seeing her several years ago.

She looks different now. Her hair seems to lack shine, probably due to malnutrition. After three hard

years of imprisonment and the recent exposure to the wind and sun, her skin is not fair at all. Even

though she has a comely appearance, she still looks weathered, and given all that has befallen her in

the short time I’ve known her, it’s obvious the hardships in her life are taking their toll.

However, at this moment, as she’s sewing her clothes, stitch by stitch, she looks… beautiful.

There’s something quiet and elegant about her and I find it unusually attractive.

In the circles I move in, I’ve never seen a woman sewing clothes like this. They have servants for that,

or they buy new wardrobes week to week. The women I know wear couture fashion that cost more than

Grace would make in a year.

Grace finishes sewing and looks up. “Oh, hi.”

I continue to stare until her face turns a pretty shade of pink.

"What's wrong?” she whispers. “Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I just think that you are really beautiful," I say.

Grace laughs, although it’s a self-deprecating one. Not a laugh of real humor. “Jay… you didn’t know

me before. Trust me, there’s a big gap between my old self and the person you now see. At most, I’m

not ugly.” She laughs again.

“I mean it,” I say.

She shakes her head. “You’re kind.”

From her tone, she’s patronizing me. But the blush in her cheeks and lingering smile tells me she likes

the compliment.

“Here,” she holds up her phone and shows me a sweater.

“What about it?”

“I ordered it for you. I know you’re a wolf and impervious to the cold, but it’s still winter, and while you’re

in human form…”

I’m incredulous.

She’s sitting here mending a tattered uniform shirt to save money. But she’s spending money on me.

I can’t help but ask, "... why are you so good to me?"

The coat and clothes, the phone and food. Letting me stay here, without asking for a dime in return.

"You are my brother,” she says easily as if that explains everything.

She’s kind and caring and her answer speaks of loyalty. Yet I’m annoyed by what she said. Has she

forgotten entirely that I am a man?”