Claimed by the Pack

Broderick’s eyes unfocused, his body going totally and utterly still. His complete lack of movement was almost eerie. Like a lighting bolt had flashed… and we were just sitting there, waiting for the thunder.

“In your room?” he growled.

“Yes.”

“And you MATED HER?”

“Mated?” I repeated, turning the word over in my mouth. It tasted exactly as strange as it sounded. “MATED?”

I wasn’t the type of girl who minded getting a little kinky now and then… or let’s face it, even a lot kinky. But whatever was going on here was too bizarre — even for me. I wasn’t sticking around for this.

“Alright, that’s it,” I announced loudly. “Fuck this whole weird scene. I’ve had enough.”

I stormed back into Damien’s room and pulled my clothes on in a flash. I could hear them talking again, but this time lowering their voices. Probably so I wouldn’t hear.

By the time I re-entered the living room, the two of them seemed a lot more calm. Damien had found a shirt somewhere. It was a shame covering him up though.

“Good luck with all of this,” I said, jerking my thumb back and forth between them. “I’m thinking you guys are going to need it.”

No one said a word as I headed for the exit. The two of them actually had their heads hung low. I closed my hand over the doorknob and then I heard it.

“Serena, wait.”

Broderick’s voice. Suddenly he sounded very rational. My hand stopped mid-turn.

I hadn’t told him my name.

“Don’t go.”

It was his sense of sudden calm that turned me around. I looked back at him.

“We have something to tell you,” the tall blonde went on. “The both of us.”

They were different now. The anger had gone out of them, but there was something else. A sense of resignation maybe. And more.

Damien caught my gaze and held me with his eyes. He crossed his well-muscled forearms across his chest and smiled.

“You need to know who we are…”

7

BRODERICK

The girl standing in my kitchen was beautiful, and not just in the physical sense. She was attractive, yes. Petite and curvy and cute. But it was her brazenness I loved the most. Her sense of uncaring, of going immediately on the attack rather than cowering on the defense.

That, plus I loved her pretty, petulant mouth.

Even as she stood there, dripping defiantly with the last of my milk, I couldn’t be angry. Not at her — I had feelings for her. Feelings that shocked and surprised me. Familiar feelings of closeness and longing and kinship that I hadn’t felt in ages; feelings that thrilled and excited me in all the ways I’d forgotten.

But also feelings of dread. Of false hope. Of the potential for suffering, not just for her, but for the both of us too.

No, I couldn’t be angry at her for that. Not even a little.

But I could certainly be mad at Damien.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done here?” I asked him sternly.

He did what he always did — he shrugged me off. It was classic Damien, really: jump now, think later. Deal with the consequences another time. Or if he could pass those consequences onto someone else? Never, as the case may be.