Single Wolf Female (Midnight Liaisons) by Jessica Sims

Trina’s worried whining at the sight of my bruises.
    “I’m fine,” I told them. “Just had a run in with Roscoe. Jackson chased him off.”
    Spence came up and licked my hand, seeking reassurance, while Trina whined and moved closer to Jackson. Even Len loped a bit closer.
    “We’re all fine,” I told them again, my voice reassuring. “It’s handled. Jackson took care of it. Roscoe was mad that he was thwarted and he caught me unawares. It won’t happen again. No need to be upset.”
    Easy for me to say. I was serene on the outside, but there was a hard pit of anger in my stomach. It wasn’t just anger at Roscoe, either. It was anger at myself, and at Jackson.
    If sleeping with Jackson would keep my pack safe, then I needed to do it, and he needed to push me toward it, damn it. No more of this easygoing shit.
     

 
    Chapter Nine
     
    Jackson was getting good at sensing my moods. By the time we headed up to our shared room (after soothing the rest of the pack again), I was bitterly angry and feeling helpless.
    As soon as the door was shut behind us, though, Jackson took one look at my face and pointed me to the bed. “Sit there.”
    I thumped to it, seething at my inability to resist his command and my stupid desire to please him that came with talking to an alpha. “Why?”
    He went to the bathroom and ran the water, then returned to my side with a wet towel. Jackson sat next to me and his fingers brushed under my chin, tilting my head so he could examine my wounds. “So I can help you clean up.”
    I sat there, stewing, while he patted at my bruises and cuts. My one eye was swollen, but I imagined it’d go down by tomorrow. Werewolves healed fast. I’d taken quite a beating, but within a few days I’d be good as new again.
    “You wanna tell me why you’re mad?” Jackson asked.
    “Why wouldn’t I be mad? That asshole was on my property.” My fists clenched at the memory of Roscoe’s hard face. His hand slapping my ass. The indignity of it all.
    “You have every right to be mad about that,” he said, and dabbed at a scratch on my cheek. “I meant why are you mad at me?”
    I gave him a narrowed look. “I’m not mad.”
    “You are,” he said, putting down the cloth. “You’re vibrating with it. I’ve done something that made you angry. Might as well tell me what it is and how it relates to this Roscoe stuff.”
    I swallowed hard. Tried to compose myself. Failed. “You’re not pushing me.”
    “Not pushing you?” His brows drew together.
    “To consummate this mating,” I hissed at him, then lowered my voice when I was sure the others would pick up on it. “Roscoe could tell I was a virgin.”
    Jackson regarded me. “And you’re mad about that?”
    “I’m mad because every day that I’m still a virgin is another day that my pack isn’t safe.” I glared at him. “And you haven’t even kissed me.”
    He studied my face. “I don’t want you to make a decision like that under duress. You have to be ready to move forward.”
    “My pack depends on me moving forward—“
    “Your personal life is yours. It’s not your pack’s.”
    I began to get irritated with his attitude. “It’s intertwined.”
    “To an extent. But you have to make decisions for you.”
    Was he not listening to me? I was trapped on all sides. “Everything I do is for the good of the pack.”
    “I know. But I want you to make one decision for yourself.” His fingers lightly touched my jaw again, examining my battle wounds.
    “You’re not making this easy for me,” I said testily. “You’re supposed to kiss me and seduce me. You’re the alpha.”
    “You’re an alpha, too,” he told me. And then his thumb brushed over my lower lip. “You want me to kiss you?”
    I grew flustered at his direct, piercing gaze. I could still see flickers of wolf in his eyes - as it was probably still in mine. How did I answer that? Would saying yes mean showing throat to him? Could I let go of even a little bit of