Protecting the Wolf's Mate (Blood Moon Brotherhood 3)

Chapter One

“It’s a wolf.” Ellen ran her finger along the intricately detailed illustration of the fearsome creature on the page of the book. “Like your father. And, soon, your mother. Like you. Only bigger. You’re still a pup.” And the slight weight and baby-smell of the small boy in her arms was pure heaven. “Wolf,” she repeated, adding a playful growl.

Oscar’s little hand rested on the page, unperturbed by the rather menacing-looking animal on the page. Instead, he burrowed closer to her chest, growled softly, and patted the book.

“I’m going to skip ahead on this one, I think. Your parents would not be pleased with me.” Reading about the grisly man-eating French werewolf was both horrifying and fascinating. But, no matter how insensitive this pack thought she was, even she wouldn’t read the tale of the Beast of Gévaudan to a sleepy toddler, wolf-pup or not. Oscar would have plenty of time to learn all about the legends and folklore surrounding what they were when he was older. Much older.

After the pack had eliminated the all too real monster hunting them.

“There are no monsters here.” She buried her nose against the top of his head and breathed deep. Here, there was peace and safety and the promise of a future for them all.

Oscar cooed, patting the page.

“Wolf.” She nodded. “Your pack would take care of that one, don’t you worry. Besides, one day you’ll be as big and strong as your father and able to protect the pack all on your own,” she whispered, his pale curls brushing her nose.

He stared up at her, the pure sweetness of his grin tempting thoughts and feelings best left locked away.

Pack member or not, this boy had taken root in a corner of her heart. “You are adorable,” she murmured, tickling his side until his giggle filled the room. She was laughing, too, allowing herself a moment’s pleasure. But the less than subtle throat clearing from the doorway told her they were no longer alone.

Hollis. Of course.

“You’re lurking now?” She wasn’t surprised. Not really. Hollis, in all his copper-haired, steely-eyed formality, was never far behind her. Following his Alpha’s orders, no doubt.

“I thought you were reading him a bedtime story?” His voice was low.

“I am,” she bit back. “Go away.”

Hollis leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his wide chest, curls falling onto his forehead. “What are you reading?”

“A book.” A book he would hardly approve of. “About wolves.”

Oscar growled.

“Exactly.” She was a proponent of embracing the inner wolf. The earlier Oscar and his wolf bonded, the stronger that bond would be, and the stronger he and his wolf would be. Growling was a fun place to start. Especially for a wolf-pup. “We were almost done, weren’t we?”

Oscar yawned, rubbing his eyes with chubby fists.

It was impossible not to smile. “See. Did his parents send you to check up on us? Or are you being you?” Hollis was immune to her insults. It was one of the more maddening things about him. Still, she’d keep trying. “Nosy. Bossy, condescending, judgmental and—”

“Is that my folklore book?” He pointed at the book.

Shit. “No.”

“I can see it, Ellen,” he countered.

“He likes the pictures.” Which was true. So did she.

“Which aren’t child-friendly.” It was a statement, with a hint of exasperation. The way he always spoke.

“We’re not looking at those,” she pointed out, holding up the book for him.

“Forget the pictures.” He pushed off the doorframe and crossed over to her, taking the book and sitting on the footstool. “You think historical serial killers make for a good bedtime story?”

“I don’t.” Oscar rolled over, going limp with sleep in her arms, sidetracking her rising temper. “We were talking about the wolf picture. Only,” she whispered.

Oscar’s growl was sleepy.

Earning a smile from Hollis.

“You dream of being a big wolf, Oscar,” she whispered in his ear. “A big, proud wolf, running through the mountains with your mother and your father and your mighty pack. Run and run and howl at the moon.” She tucked him close.

“Got him?” Hollis asked.

She glared. Of course she had him. And his slight, solid weight was all that was keeping her grounded. The air was alive with energy. Electrifying. Agitating. The impending full moon and the call to hunt singing in her veins. But instinct, and her wolf, told her this was where they were needed. Here, protecting Oscar, no matter what was happening beyond the walls of her temporary home-prison. Instead of carrying him to his crib, she rocked him a little longer.

Hollis sat quietly, his attention wandering to the low-burning fire in the grate.

The longer he sat, still and quiet, the harder it was to ignore him. He was an odd man, favoring his intellect over his instinct and arguing against the very existence of his wolf. Which was one of the reasons he bothered her so. To choose to be an outcast in his own pack, an honorable and fierce pack—one to be proud of. And to refuse the gifts that lived inside of him? It was wrong.

“What?” His gaze met hers. “You’re staring.”

“I’m thinking about what a fool you are.” She closed her eyes, resting her head against the chair. “Did you need something? Or are you here purely to irritate me?”

He sighed but didn’t answer. She got a lot of sighs from him. This time, it felt diffe

rent. Tense. Uneasy. Hollis was rarely uneasy. For all his ridiculousness over denying who and what he was, his intellect was staggering. His ability to sift through and filter only pertinent information, no matter the circumstances or stakes, was something she admired. Not that she’d ever admit as much.

“Something is about to happen.” It wasn’t a question.

Eyes opened, she studied him. “That’s a very broad statement.”

His grin was reluctant but disarming. He didn’t smile often. He didn’t emote, really. Making even the slightest expression was rewarding. Not that she was going to dwell on his devilish grin. “Can you be more specific?”

The shake of his head was quick. “Just a feeling.”