Wolf Moon by A.D. Ryan

then Jackson. “Which was?”
    “A
woman,” I croaked. “She’s dead. I-I think it was
supposed to be me. Stripped, bleeding, and hanging from a tree.” Noticing the
alarmed look on Marcus’ face, I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat,
and my whole body shivered when I remembered Nick’s tortured cry. “I-I’ve never
seen him like that before.”
    “C’mon,
kid,” Jackson said. “I’ll take you inside and go look
for him. I’m sure he’s just working through it.”
    My
limbs moved as though trudging through molasses, my thoughts foggy and muddled,
and Jackson really had to work to get me into the house and up the stairs.
Outside, I heard another howl, recognizing it as Nick’s, then another I didn’t.
I stopped in the middle of the stairs, my body tense before a tremble took
over.
    Jackson
ran his hand up and down my arm. “ It’s just Marcus.
Probably trying to locate him. Let’s get you settled in your room and I’ll go
out too, okay?”
    Eyebrows
pulled together with worry, I met his gaze and nodded slowly before we continued
to ascend the staircase. We walked down the hall, my limbs moving as though disconnected
from my body, slow and jerky, feet barely lifting off the floor.
    Once
in my room, Jackson sat me on the edge of the bed and crouched before me.
“Brooke?” I looked at him, but I didn’t really see him. My vision was clouded with fear. Fear for Nick. Fear for
myself. Fear for the Pack I’d barely joined.
    “You
going to be okay, kid?”
    Shaking
my head to clear the murky confusion, I snapped myself out of it. “Yeah. Go.
I’ll be fine.”
    “Okay. Miranda’s somewhere in the house. If you need
anything, just call for her, okay?” I nodded again before he cupped my face to
lock my gaze to his. “Stay here otherwise. I’ll bring him home in one piece.”
    Jackson
left me alone then, and I waited. I didn’t know how long I waited, but I
waited. I stayed on the end of the bed before my nerves got the better of me.
Soon, I was pacing the room, biting my thumb nail —a
nervous habit I’d given up in my late-teen years.
    Based
on the alarm clock on Nick’s bedside table, more than an hour had passed.
Though, to be honest, it felt like longer. When I saw a flash of light move in
the yard, I sprinted across the room, pressed my palms flat against the windows—I’d
worry about the handprints tomorrow—and strained my eyes to see if I
could spot him.
    I
couldn’t, so I went back to pacing. Back and forth, I moved in front of the
large windows, occasionally looking out to see if they’d found him.
    Then
the bedroom door opened suddenly, startling me, but not nearly as much as the
sight of a very nude Nick walking back into the room. My eyes remained on his
and not his lack of clothes as I took an awkward step forward. His posture was
rigid. I sensed apprehension and fear as well as something else…shame? I continued
forward, wanting to set his mind at ease, but he stopped me, turning toward his
dresser where he grabbed a pair of black sweats and pulled them on.
    He
turned again, but hesitated. His eyes reflected the shame I sensed moments
before, and I still struggled to understand why.
    Then
it hit me: he’d lost control, which was rare for him. But he did, and he lost
control because I had been threatened. Whoever was responsible had wanted to
confirm his weakness, and stringing up some innocent woman on our property had
done exactly that.
    I
could see he needed to be reassured that everything was fine, so I took another
step toward him. “Nick,” I said softly. “Thank God you’re okay.”
    His
rigid posture softened slightly, and he reached for me. Relieved, I fell into
his arms, wrapping mine around his waist as he enveloped me entirely. He still
smelled of the crisp winter air, mixed with the subtle notes of his recent
shift, and I breathed him in, repeating over and over to myself that he was
okay.
    He
kissed the top of my head once before resting his cheek