Oscar?
She sat up quickly. “Shit,” she hissed, pressing her hand to her side. She was naked. She pushed the sheets down, revealing a scar. What the hell had happened? She and Finn… She was flooded with warmth. He hadn’t hurt her. So how had this happened?
She stood, favoring her side, and moved to the crib.
No Oscar. But here at the refuge, they were safe. Finn must have him. Knowing that eased her worry. She hobbled into the bathroom, turned on the lights, and stared at her reflection. The scar resembled a puncture wound, with fine thin, lines radiating out, like a starburst.
Exactly like Finn’s
.
She turned, seeing an almost identical scar on her back. Her fingers lightly traced along the hyper-sensitized flesh, marveling. He’d marked her, irrefutably. And she liked it. Even if it hurt like hell. She leaned against the counter, unsteady on her feet. She slowly brushed her teeth before turning on the shower.
The waterfall shower was heaven. She braced her hands on the wall, letting the hot water ease her stiff side. The more relaxed she was, the more memories surfaced. Finn. His eyes. The feel of him inside her. She ached, the craving so overwhelming she leaned against the wall.
Washing her hair was hard work. Her side ached miserably, so she did the best she could, resting now and again.
“Need help?” Finn’s voice.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I think I’ve got it,” she answered, smiling.
“You’re weak.” His hand rested on her belly as his chest pressed against her back. “I would have helped you.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, the thrill of his touch on her skin electric. She shuddered, hissing at the pull on her side.
“You’re hurting.” His fingers traced the scar on her back. “I’m sorry.”
She turned in his hold. “About?”
“Scarring you.” His hands clasped her face.
She shook her head, smiling at him. “No one can doubt I’m yours now.”
His jaw tightened before he eased her close. His forehead rested against hers. “You wouldn’t wake up,” he murmured. “You were hurting.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
He tilted her head back, searching her face with his clear blue gaze. She swallowed, reeling from the possessiveness on his face. “I wasn’t,” he said. “I can’t see you hurting. I can’t.” The last word was a growl.
She kissed him, standing on tiptoe to twine her arms around his neck. It didn’t matter if it hurt her side; he needed comfort, and she needed to give it to him. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked.
“Eleven hours.”
And just like that her scar—all her aches and pains—seemed unimportant.
Tonight was the full moon. “Where’s Oscar?” she asked, the tightness in her throat pinching her voice.
Finn’s gaze met hers. “He’s with his uncles. He’s in good hands.”
But that didn’t ease the flare of panic she felt. “Tonight?”
He nodded.
“What can I do?” she asked.
“Stay with him.” He kissed her, his jaw tightening before he added. “I can’t stop the change—”
“I know.” She nodded. She’d be alone with a house full of wolves. And Oscar. “Is…is there anything I can do to help him? If he needs help?”