Protecting Their Mate: Part Three (The Last Pack) by Moira Rogers

Author:Moira Rogers [Rogers, Moira]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Moira Rogers
Published: 2017-08-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Everything about the Great Lakes wolves was wrong, and it was making Blake crazy.

Emmett was too sly, too deliberate. Always dancing just shy of rudeness as he surveyed the back porch like a prospective owner and spoke to Lucas as if they were equals. He wanted everything Lucas had—the comfort that came with their money, the security of their home, the respect of a pack.

The young wolves with him respected no one. Not Emmett, not glowering Tim, not each other. If they'd been his pack brothers, Blake would have smacked them into the ground a dozen times over the course of the meal, just on damn principle. And when they turned those disrespectful gazes on Ashley...

He had already bent his fork by mistake, and he'd have splinters embedded halfway through his hand if he didn't stop gripping the edge of the table. His self-control was already frayed, but he'd promised Lucas he would try.

It didn't stop him from intercepting Bryce's next covetous look with a cold glare.

The younger wolf started to scowl, but the one with the eye patch planted an elbow in his ribs, diverting his attention.

Beneath the table, Ashley curled her fingers around Blake's hand and squeezed.

Her touch should have soothed him. It had been enough, the first few times, when his rage was still at a low simmer. But it was the girl—Grace—who was scraping everyone raw now.

She was wary. Wounded. She barely spoke at all, even then only when spoken to, and her gaze stayed fixed to the table the rest of the time. Not out of deference or as a show of submission—there was too much jagged, angry power in her for that.

She was scared. She was hurting. And her supposed pack was fucking well oblivious, ignoring her as she listlessly chased food around her plate with her fork. They were too damn busy trying to devour Ashley with their eyes.

The bastards didn't deserve Ashley. They didn't deserve either of them.

"I should check on dessert," Ashley said suddenly. "Blake, can you help me?"

"Sure." He rose and offered his hand, just for the excuse to keep that calming contact.

She pulled him into the kitchen. They'd left the back door open to the pleasant evening, but she closed it now, leaned against it, and stared at him. "Are you all right?" she asked, too softly for anyone outside to hear.

The smart thing would be to lie. Project confidence, offer reassurances. He tried, but the words wouldn't come. He was so obviously not all right, and the least all right part of the whole fucking mess was his sudden overpowering need to pin her to the door and rub his scent over every glorious inch of her.

"No," he rasped, all but shaking with the need to touch her. "No, I'm not."

She breathed his name, then surged off the door and covered the space between them. Laying one hand on his chest, right over his thumping heart, she whispered his name again. "They'll be gone soon."

They'd be gone, and Ashley would be here.

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