Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine novel Chapter 11

GRACE

“Why do you think we should do this,Grace?”

I’m not sure what unnerves me more. Jay’s question or the way he holds my hand.

“Because…” I struggle to find my words. As an attorney, I used to think out every argument and calculate conversations to be convincing and compelling. But I am not looking to sell him on something or to try and win him over.

“Jay, we are the same kind of people,” I say. “We've both been abandoned by our packs—and for wolves, there is no greater tragedy.” I stop myself. Well, actually there is. Having your wolf torn from your soul. Yeah, that is definitely worse.

“Look,” I say, “We’re exiled. Rogues. Alone. Scraping out a living on the bottom-most rung of society. No one will want people like us, and no one will care about us, but at least we can keep each other warm—”

“You want to keep me warm?” He smirks.

I blush and swat him with my napkin.

He squeezes my hand then lets it go.

Those odd little sparks I felt along my skin, they evaporate.

In our true forms, we’d run in a pack and then rest, lying close to each other. And, yes, wolves did that sort of thing to stay warm.

“I can care about you, and you can also care about me, right?"

"Is that so?” he asks.

There’s something in his eyes. A flash of a darkness that fills me with unease. I feel my smile wobble. Maybe this is a really stupid idea.

Maybe he doesn’t want to take a chance again.

Maybe he’s right, and it’s easier to be alone.

“It seems we really are the same kind of people..." he mutters cryptically, and I want to ask but something tells me he won’t say what he means.

His gaze is like that of a hunter watching a small animal fall into his trap.

"Sister." He nods as if coming to some agreement. Then he holds out his hand.

I shake it.

* * * * * * * * * *

JASON

In the blink of an eye, her smile turns as bright as the starry sky.

Really, is this woman so starved for affection?

After dinner, Grace suggests that we go shopping. So I leave with her for the night market and watch bemusedly as she picks out assorted articles of clothes for me.

Like I’m some child.

Maybe to her, I am.

A brother in need of saving.

I frown.