Falling for the Billionaire Wolf and His Baby (Blood Moon Brotherhood 1)

“Jessa,” his voice broke. “Go into your room and wait for me.”

She spun, her eyes shining with unshed tears—and anger. “Don’t order me around. Jesus, Finn, I need to… I’m just… Stop.”

Finn ran a hand over his face and nodded. She was right. He’d had ten years to come to terms with his fucked-up reality. She’d had a day. And until now she hadn’t known what, exactly, “his reality” meant. He watched her, aching to hold her, to touch her. “Thank you for protecting Oscar.”

She nodded, her gaze lingering on his bare chest, then traveled lower. “I need…” Her whisper hitched. Her green eyes slammed into his, the ragged pull of her breath shaking him. “You’re naked.”

The shift from fear to need was a palpable thing. Her emotions were high. Her life had been threatened, her endorphins had taken over. She needed some sort of release. He swallowed, trying not to respond, trying not to think about all the ways he could help her find her release—over and over.

“Mr. Dean?” It was Brown.

“In here,” he answered, glad for the interruption.

Jessa blinked, sucking in a long, deep breath. “Oscar needs a bottle.” She walked around the shattered crib, torn carpet, and chunks of drywall littering the floor.

“Miss Talbot, I advise you to wait,” Brown said.

Shit, Thomas. He’d shift now, from wolf to the man he was. That was the hardest part—and Jessa didn’t need to see. He wrapped a shredded throw around his waist as he went.

Oscar’s soft cries were building, a sign that his son was hungry—something Jessa would immediately respond to. “Brown, bring a bottle and formula to Miss Talbot’s room,” he instructed. “My son is hungry.”

Brown, good man that he was, headed toward the kitchen.

Jessa was staring at him.

“I’m sorry, Jessa,” he murmured.

“Can I leave?” she asked. “Would you let me go?”

No. You can’t go. He couldn’t let her. His hands fisted at his sides. “You’re upset.”

“Yes, I’m upset. Normal people would find this upsetting.” She bounced Oscar absent-mindedly. “My worries consist of paying rent and tuition and electric bills, of being there for my family, of hoping I’ll eventually find someone to love—that loves me.” Her words ran together, her agitation increasing. “Being hunted or eaten?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough for this. But…” She shook her head, sniffing.

“But?” he prompted.

Oscar’s ear-splitting wail interrupted them.

Luckily Brown arrived with a bottle, and Jessa took Oscar into her room, closing the door behind her. Finn stared at it, calming himself until he could hear the steady heartbeat of his son, the soft humming of Jessa.

“Mr. Dean?” Brown began. “He’s gone.”

Finn pushed past Brown into the hallway. The floor was wet with blood, several paw prints trailing to the emergency exit he’d broken through to get in. Stupid fucking idiot. He’d been too worked up to make sure Thomas was dead. “Get someone down there, Brown. He can’t leave. Do you understand me?” This was his fault.

Brown nodded. “Yes sir.”

Finn ran down the stairs, the senses of the wolf sharpening his ears and nose. The scent of blood was easy to follow, ending at the third floor—the parking garage. The door was ajar, a thin strip of blood along its surface. But the trail ended sharply,

gas and rubber signaling the way Thomas had gone.

“Someone was waiting,” Brown said, still scanning the concrete garage floors.

Finn felt the fury of the wolf, but fought it back. “Cyrus,” he said, glancing at his security chief.

Brown had a vested interest in destroying Cyrus, too, one that made him unfailingly loyal to Finn. Eight years ago, Cyrus had killed Brown’s wife and taken his daughter. It was Finn that had found Brown, broken and furious, and listened to the man’s too-implausible-to-be-true story. Except it wasn’t. He’d vowed to help Brown find his daughter, and the man had been loyal to Finn ever since.

“I’ll find them,” Brown said.

“No, send Gentry. I need you to help get Oscar and Jessa to the refuge.” His voice was hard, inflexible. He wanted Cyrus dead—wanted to rip the bastard’s fucking throat out. But he’d have to wait. Brown’s revenge would have to wait, too.