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

Instead, he’d walked into his suite to find a note from Mal telling him where they were.

What he had to say was for Ellen alone…without audiences or Mal’s I-told-you-so grin. He’d spent the afternoon reconciling trial data and developing a testing strategy going forward. But he’d been too distracted to trust himself, so he rechecked his work and then handed it off to Kim for a final review. If he hadn’t trusted his team, this would be harder. As it was, he gave up and left it in their capable hands. If they needed him, they’d call.

What mattered now was this. Ellen. He didn’t know what came next or how the fuck it would play out, but he couldn’t let her go. Period.

If she needed Cyrus’s head on a fucking platter, he’d figure it out. But right now, Cyrus, the Others, the pack, and the cure could all wait.

He moved through the lobby and out the back doors to the courtyard. Music greeted him. Music, people, and the smell of beer. This was the last thing he wanted right now. Pushing through the crowd, he spied Mal and Olivia at a far table. They leaned close, heads together, smiling and whispering.

He frowned, sweeping the crowd for Ellen.

It would be all too easy to slip away from a place like this. God knows Olivia and Mal weren’t paying any attention to anything but each other. He stalked across the courtyard and scowled down at Mal.

“Where is she?” he snapped. “If you’ve lost her, Finn will lose it.”

Mal sat back in his chair. “Finn will lose it?” He shook his head.

“I’m not playing with you, Mal.” He’d never wanted to punch his friend before. But now, it took everything he had to hold back.

“She’s fine,” Olivia sounded off. “She’s dancing.” She pointed.

Hollis spun, searching the crowd.

Ellen was in a dress. Her graceful limbs swaying to the beat of the music. Eyes closed, head back, she was lost. Beautiful. So fucking beautiful he ached. But when the son of a bitch dancing behind her put his hands on her hips, Hollis saw red.

“Easy,” Mal whispered. “She’s just dancing.”

The words were barely audible, muffled beneath the roar of his blood. The roar of something raw and angry and primal.

“Jesus, Hollis.” Mal stood, his hand clamping on his shoulder. “Keep it together. No scenes.”

Hollis knocked Mal’s hand from his shoulder and headed straight for her. If the man didn’t stop touching her soon, he didn’t know what would happen.

“Dude,” the man said. “We’re dancing.”

Hollis didn’t bother looking at the man. He stared at Ellen, his control slipping away. Words rose up and lodged in his throat. Angry words. Pleading words. But nothing was enough—nothing was right.

Ellen’s eyes popped open wide as she stared at him. “Hollis?”

“She can dance with you next,” the asshole with his hand still on Ellen’s hip mouthed off.

Hollis didn’t try to hide his rage, it was impossible. All he could do was stare at the man and imagine how easy it would be to rip his arm off…and remove his hand from Ellen. A low growl came from the back of his throat. She was his.

The man stepped back, no longer touching her.

Her eyes locked with his, then fell to his mouth, a hard shudder racking her body.

Hollis grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him. Through the crowd, past the lobby, and into the nearly full elevator. She stared up at him, flushed cheeks and breathing hard, her hands gripping his shirt.

He stooped, running his nose along her neck. Her scent, arousal and sweat, made him groan against her throat. Her hand slid up, grasped his neck, and pulled his head to hers.

It was a soft kiss, clinging just long enough to snip one of the few remaining threads of his control. He ignored the cleared throats and whispers of the others in the elevator. Her fingers twined in his hair, tugging until his gaze met hers. Her hunger gripped him by the throat and made breathing impossible.

They reached their floor and she slipped out first, smiling at him over he

r shoulder. He followed, struggling not to chase after her. Instead he took his time, studying the sweep of her ass in that tiny, little green dress. Long legs. An almost bare back. And the strap of a black lace bra.

She leaned against the doorframe, waiting as he fumbled with the key card in the slot. Her hand covered his, taking the card and placing his hand against her stomach. She lingered, waiting for him to move into her before opening the door—putting space between them again.