Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven 1)

The sign of the Brotherhood. Something a male received when he joined.

Yet John Matthew had had his since birth.

Sitting down, she took his hands and carefully wiped where she had bitten him. He was in such incredible shape, and so well fed from taking her vein on the regular, that she could practically watch the marks of her fangs and front teeth sealing themselves up.

“I’m so sorry,” she said when she could trust her voice.

And even then, it was a croak of syllables more than actual words.

“I’m fucking sorry.”

John shook his head. Then took his hands back and signed, Don’t be. I don’t care about—

“You should. You should care—you’re being terrorized in your own fucking bed.”

Xhex, what can I do to help?

She folded and refolded the towel in her lap. “Wear chain mail? I’d suggest tying me up—but that’s what got me into trouble in the first place.”

In that lab, she added to herself.

Her mate was signing more things, supportive things, things that broke her in half. How this male stayed with her, she had no clue. He was better than her on so many levels.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll deal with this. Somehow.”

Yeah, because the subconscious was easily controlled. Which was why people only ever did shit they were fully in charge of.

No problem.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

Ordinarily, in her job as head of security for various clubs, and in her life, as a half-breed symphath, she was a hardass, capable of staring down drunk humans who were out of their mind on Molly and wouldn’t have recognized even God Himself standing in front of them.

But in this bedroom, behind their closed door …

John Matthew stopped signing and just held out his battered arms. There was no censure in his face or his eyes, nothing but love and acceptance.

Well—and worry.

Xhex wanted to be strong. But as she collapsed into her hellren’s arms, she didn’t have a choice.

I’ll make it up to him, she vowed.

Somehow, sometime … she’d figure out a way to be normal.

BACK AT THE Wolf Study Project’s headquarters, at just before six p.m., Lydia looked up from a dismal financial spreadsheet. “He’s still not here. Like, not at all?”

Candy pulled on her puffy down coat. “Nope, and before you ask, no, I didn’t put our executive director in a closet. My kidnap fantasies stop at UPS men.”

Sitting back in her chair, Lydia did some math. Peter Wynne hadn’t been in the office for a week and a half now. Unbelievable.

“Hey,” she said. “I heard the vacuum going. Are the cleaners here early? They’re supposed to come in Saturday mornings.”

“They don’t come in on Saturdays anymore.”

“So five-thirty tonight works better?” Lydia frowned when there was no response. “What aren’t you telling me. Did they quit?”

“No, they didn’t quit.” Candy walked forward and put an envelope on the desk. “Here’s your paycheck.”

“What happened to the cleaners?” As Candy fussed with something in her purse, Lydia put her pen down. “You’re kidding me.”

Candy lifted her palms like it was a holdup. “Hey, I happen to like vacuuming. And don’t get me started on Windex. I’m obsessed.”

“That’s not your job—wait, who’s going to take care of cleaning the clinic?” As Candy just lifted a brow, Lydia swallowed twelve kinds of curses. “No, Rick is not cleaning the—he needs to take care of my wolf. The wolf, I mean.”

“He said he didn’t mind.”

“Goddamn it.” Lydia shoved her chair back and marched around her desk. “I’ve frickin’ had it—”

Candy snagged her arm. “Where are you going? Peter’s not here anyway, and what’s it going to get you to yell at his closed door?”

Lydia stared off into the hallway, not seeing the framed maps of the preserve or the black-and-white photographs of gray wolves. Instead, the piss-poor financials she’d been reviewing were like a neon sign mounted directly in front of her face.

“We’re going to need to trim some expenses,” she announced. “We can’t afford to fill Trick’s position—”

“We can’t afford not to fill it. Eastwind brought the ATV back, and he says it has a leak in the gas tank. There are three bridges on the main trail that need fixing or our insurance company is going to cancel our policy—the letter is in your inbox. The equipment building has a hole in the roof, and you and I both know how well our bathroom is functioning. I don’t mind sharing facilities with Rick, but that insurance policy is going to be a big problem.”

“Maybe I can fix those bridges.”

“Sure. In all your free time.” Candy shrugged. “Look, we can all pitch in with the cleaning as a team, but Trick did stuff out in the preserve that none of us are equipped to do. And the fundraiser is coming up. We’ll get the money we need, eventually. Well … somehow, we’ll get it.”

“Tell me the truth, Candy.” Lydia shifted her eyes to the older woman. “When did the cleaners stop coming in?”