“Take your hand from my neck, now!” She growls. I’ve never had a female question my authority, but this tiny little creature does. I’m rock hard again, my Wolf wants to show her what an Alpha is.

Slowly, oh so slowly, I remove my fingers. I can’t help my body’s reaction to her. I move in closer. Touching her is the best kind of pain. I want so much more than she’s ready to give. When she gasps and stiffens, I know I’ve gone too far. Moving away, I apologize.

Finally, she lets me seat her. I ask her to tell me about her family, when it all happened. When she mentions the name she’s given Cass, I rethink letting him live, and when I hear the story behind the name, I maim him about a hundred different ways in my head for getting so close to her.

I’m shocked when I find out how soon she lost her parents after I found her, but when she tells me she waited for me to come for her, my heart breaks. I’m reminded how selfish I’ve been when she tells me she still doesn’t know my name.

Everything I say either comes out wrong or sounds horrible. With every word I utter, the hurt in her eyes compounds. When a few tears escape her eyes, I can no longer just sit here. I have to make it better. I pick her up and take her to my swing where I can hold her and explain how we got in this fucked up situation.

Hours later I think she finally understands, but when I ask her to stay, she asks where my girlfriend is. I realize she still doesn’t get it. We both need a break from shredding our souls. So we head inside to hopefully get comfortable and eat.

CHAPTER 11

The kitchen is huge, like run a small restaurant huge. The cabinets are rustic looking ivory with touches of black showing through here and there. The stove is twice the size of a normal range. It has two ovens next to each other, six burners on top, and a raised flat griddle. Yowzers, now that’s a stove. I’m sitting at a large island in the middle of the kitchen. Masen brought a high-backed stool over from the breakfast bar ten feet away. “Like you close” is all he says when I ask why I don’t just sit over there. So here I am, while he rummages through the fridge looking for food.

“I have some leftovers in here. I’m not really the greatest cook. Usually, Molly makes dinner a few nights a week,” he says sheepishly.

Molly, who the hell is Molly? How many women does he have? Are they on rotation? “Ahh no, I don’t want your Molly’s food!” I scoff.

He turns to face me. “She’s not my Molly, she’s William’s Molly. She is however a trusted friend. She cleans and cooks for me a few days a week. Her Mate was injured by a rogue seven years ago. He’s scarred, so he doesn’t leave pack land much. I pay her enough working a few hours a week to send her children to college.” He shrugs his shoulders like it’s no big deal.