Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
T he last damn thing Brock needed in his life was a female, especially this female. And yet, here he was, holding onto her like she was the last woman on earth.
Her wide eyes locked onto his, gold flecks catching in the sunlight, making it impossible for him to look away. She felt small against him, her body trembling slightly from the fall, and something deep inside him—something primal—tightened like a vice.
He’d heard the commotion from the back of the house and hadn’t thought—had only moved . Rounding the corner and seeing her hanging from the gutter had stopped his heart cold. His wolf had risen instantly, howling with a fierce, undeniable need to protect her. But it wasn’t just the wolf.
The man in him had felt the same desperate pull, the same gut-wrenching fear at the thought of losing her. He barely knew this woman, but his wolf didn’t seem to care. Clearing his throat, he set her down, steadying her when she stumbled.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it. Her green eyes flickered away like she feared letting him see too much.
Brock wasn’t sure what to make of that...of her . But Hunter’s pissed-off voice cut through the moment like a blade before he could figure it out.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hunter growled, pointing at the roof.
Deb turned on him, her own glare fierce as she threw her hands onto her hips, perfectly mirroring his stance. “Don’t you yell at me, Hunter Foster!”
Hunter’s scowl deepened.
Rolling her eyes, she huffed. “What in the hell do you think I was doing? Knitting a damn sweater? I was checking the roof. Again. ” She gestured dramatically, sweeping an arm wide. “Most of it is in the yard.”
Brock’s gaze followed the motion, and sure enough, shingles littered the ground.
He clenched his jaw, irritation sparking low in his gut. She had been reckless and stubborn, climbing on the roof. But as his eyes flicked back to her flushed cheeks, wild hair, and eyes still stormy from adrenaline, Brock felt something other than irritation shift inside him.
Damn it. This woman was going to be trouble.
“You’re bleeding?” Hunter’s sharp voice yanked Brock from his thoughts.
His gaze shot back to her. A thin stream of blood trickled from Deb’s hairline, sliding down her forehead. He watched as she reached up, her fingertips grazing the wound before pulling away, stained red.
“I must’ve hit my head on the gutter when it pulled completely off the house,” she muttered, more annoyed than concerned.
“Ah, ya think?” Hunter snapped, exasperation clear in his voice as he pulled out his phone.
Brock’s eyes narrowed, irritation prickling beneath his skin. He didn’t like Hunter’s tone, not one damn bit. And what was worse, he didn’t like that he was feeling this way at all. Fuck.
“I’m calling Emily,” Hunter huffed, already dialing.
Deb’s head snapped up, fire flashing in those green eyes. “Do not call my sister,” she warned, her voice low and edged with steel. She swiped at the blood, smearing it across her forehead and into her tangled blonde hair like she couldn’t care less. “It’s just a scratch.”
Brock had seen enough injuries in his life to know that was a damn lie. And despite every instinct telling him to stay out of it, to walk away, he found himself stepping closer.
"Sit down," he ordered, his deep voice leaving no room for argument. "Let me see."
Deb scowled up at him, defiance written all over her face. "I said I'm fine."
Brock arched a brow, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Yeah? Well, humor me."
For a moment, it looked like she was going to keep fighting, but then, with a heavy sigh, she dropped onto the porch steps. Brock crouched beside her, reaching out to tilt her chin. The moment his fingers brushed her skin, a jolt of awareness shot through him, unexpected and unwelcome. He ignored it. He had to.
"You need this cleaned," he murmured, focusing on the wound instead of the way her pulse thrummed beneath his fingertips. "And you need to stop being so damn stubborn."
Deb snorted, wincing slightly as Brock’s thumb brushed just beneath the cut. "Yeah, well, that’s the personality I was dealt.”
Brock felt a grin tug at his lips at her sharp response but chose not to comment. Instead, he focused on the wound. “You don’t need stitches, but you better get something on it. Those gutters were rusty as hell. Have you had a tetanus shot?”
“I have,” she replied, her eyes widening slightly as if surprised he even asked.
“What?” Brock cocked a brow at her questioning look. “Just because Shifters don’t need human medication doesn’t mean I don’t know about them.”
“Yeah, Deb,” Hunter added as he hoisted himself onto the roof. “We’re not ignorant.”
Deb shot him a glare, crossing her arms. “Some who know you would argue that fact.” A beat of silence passed before she exhaled heavily, shaking her head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that.”
“Yeah, you did,” Hunter smirked from above, peering down at her with amusement.
“Dammit, Hunter.” Deb threw up her hands, frustration flashing across her face. “I’m trying to be nice, and you just make it too damn hard some days.”
“I know.” Hunter’s laughter echoed down as he disappeared over the roof’s edge.
“Asshole,” Deb muttered under her breath.
Brock heard her loud and clear and let out a deep chuckle. “You two always like this?”
Deb sighed, brushing her hands down her jeans. “Pretty much.” Then, after a pause, she added, “But he’s a good guy and good to my sister.” Her voice softened slightly, reluctant but genuine.
Brock tilted his head, studying her for a moment. There was something raw about her now, something real that peeked through all the walls she kept up.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he murmured before realizing he was saying it.
Deb blinked up at him, momentarily speechless. For a flicker of a second, something unguarded passed across her face—something raw and vulnerable—but just as quickly, it was gone. She straightened, lifting her chin as if reinforcing her armor.
“Yeah, well, stick around this town long enough, and you’ll learn how wrong that statement is,” she muttered, her voice laced with something he couldn’t quite place.
Brock didn’t stop her as she turned on her heel and walked up the steps, but he didn’t miss the way her shoulders sagged just a little, as if the weight of something unseen pressed down on her. He’d seen plenty of tough exteriors in his lifetime, worn enough of them himself to know that sometimes, they were the only thing keeping a person from crumbling.
And damn if it didn’t make him want to know what—or who—had made Deb Snodgrass believe she wasn’t worth something better.
Cursing under his breath, Brock backed up a step before using his strength and pent-up frustration to launch himself onto the roof with an effortless jump. His boots landed solidly on the shingles, the motion grounding him even as his mind still lingered on Deb.
“Definitely needs a new roof,” Hunter muttered, surveying the damage with a critical eye.
Brock knelt, peeling back a few loose shingles and running his fingers along the exposed wood beneath. “The wood looks good,” he observed, pressing down to test its integrity. It held firm under his weight. He moved toward the other side, his steps deliberate, assessing. “No give. It’s still sturdy.”
Hunter let out a low whistle. “She’s lucky. A few more of these storms, though, and that luck’s gonna run out.”
Brock’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like the idea of Deb living under a roof that could cave in on her. Hell, he didn’t like a lot of things when it came to Deb Snodgrass, including the way she made something sharp and unfamiliar twist in his chest.