Rogue Desires (Wolves of Chaos Valley) by Leeah Taylor & Wolves of Chaos Valley

Author:Leeah Taylor & Wolves of Chaos Valley [Taylor, Leeah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atticus LLC.
Published: 2021-06-14T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Harlow

I toss.

I turn.

Blankets on.

Blankets off.

Sleep isn’t happening. I can’t close my eyes without seeing Randall. Hearing my father. Or the roar of those men, the very sound of evil, tossing out bids on those girls. Paired with my wolf’s constant need to sate the mate bond with the rest of my mates and I can’t win or lose.

I pull on a pair of leggings and a loose fitting tank top I got down in Ivywood, and creep out of my room like a lost little captive afraid of being caught. I’m not. It’s been made clear I’m no prisoner in this home and I believe it. Is it home, though? Is this house, these men, the home I lost?

It remains to be seen.

And while I figure it out, I need something to feed my sweet tooth.

The house is dark with little light coming from the kitchen. Must mean it’s still night. Does it count as night when it’s dark all the time? I guess if everyone else is asleep in the house then it’s night.

I stop at the bottom of the stairs and peer into the living room. Aiden is out cold on the couch. They even gave him sheets and blankets to make it up. Probably a miracle they didn’t tie him up and throw him in a closet.

And as far as I’m concerned, a mate bond is not enough to fix the things he’s done. I’m not sure what it’ll take, if anything. I can’t stomach the idea of rejecting him but even less letting him touch me to put a claiming mark on me.

I search the shelves until I find a jar of peanut butter and snatch it down. It’s a weakness. Straight from the jar, in the dead of night. There’s nothing better. Well, sex is better but this is second best. I go through drawers until I find the silverware and pluck out a spoon.

I hop up on the counter, open the jar and go to plunge the spoon in when the floor creaks behind me. My heart flutters but I can’t bring myself to turn around. It’s not Dante, that much I’m sure.

“Close your eyes, Little Doe,” Ronan’s voice warms through me. “Please.”

With a small nod, I do as he asks. Listen to his light footsteps make their way into the kitchen. The breath catches in my throat when I feel the heat of his body come close but I don’t move away. Flinch back.

It’s not him I fear. Ronan is far too sweet. Gentle. It’s the power his identical eyes have to paint a picture of true fear.

“Just my fingers, okay?”

I nod, oddly craving his gentle touch. Fingertips graze down the side of my face and I find myself leaning into it.

“Ya know, I think the obvious answer here is I’m just not my father. I can’t change my eyes. I can’t change my face. I’m cursed to look like him.” He rests his hands on my thighs. “So all I can do is prove it to you.

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