Chapter Ten
Sloane had woken Jamie two more times last night, and now Jamie’s body ached in places he didn’t know could ache.
Rolling over took more effort than usual, every muscle protesting the movement.
But the smile wouldn’t leave Jamie’s face.
Mated. The word rolled around his mind like a marble, foreign but warming with each repetition.
“Ready to go?” Sloane asked from the bathroom doorway, fully dressed and looking unfairly put-together.
“Give me five minutes to remember how legs work.” Jamie sat up slowly, noting each ache with a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction. “You’re a menace.”
“You weren’t complaining last night.”
Heat crept up Jamie’s neck. “That’s because you kept doing that thing with your—never mind.”
Sloane’s laugh filled the room, rich and warm. He crossed to the bed, leaning down to kiss Jamie's forehead. “Come on. You’ll be late for work.”
Getting dressed proved challenging when every movement reminded Jamie exactly how thorough Sloane had been. Twice. Three times if he counted the shower that had gotten derailed. His jeans felt tighter somehow, or maybe his skin was just hypersensitive to everything.
Twenty minutes later, after the world’s fastest shower and borrowing one of Sloane’s shirts, which hung loose on Jamie’s smaller frame, they were in the Charger heading down the mountain. Jamie couldn’t stop touching the collar of the shirt, breathing in Sloane’s scent that clung to the fabric.
Mated. The word kept bouncing around his brain like a pinball. He was mated to a werewolf. A gorgeous, protective, slightly possessive werewolf who kissed like sin and made Jamie feel things he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve.
“You’re smiling,” Sloane observed, glancing over.
“Am not.”
“Are too.” Sloane’s hand found Jamie’s thigh, squeezing gently. “It’s a good look on you.”
Jamie had been smiling since he woke up, the muscles in his face actually sore from the unfamiliar expression. When was the last time he’d smiled this much? Definitely not during the William months. Maybe not even before that.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Jamie said, but his hand covered Sloane’s, fingers threading together.
The drive passed too quickly. Soon they were pulling up outside Jamie’s building, and reality crept back in. Work. Responsibilities. His regular life, which now had to somehow accommodate werewolves and mate bonds and whatever else came with dating someone who could turn into a wolf.
“Want me to come up?” Sloane asked as he put the car in Park.
“Better not.” Jamie’s body was already responding to the suggestion, and he really did need to get ready for work. “You’re too distracting. I’ll end up calling in sick.”
“Is that supposed to discourage me?”
Jamie laughed, leaning across the console for another kiss. Just a quick one. Except Sloane’s hand cupped his jaw, holding him close, turning quick into thorough. By the time they separated, Jamie’s lips felt swollen and his jeans were uncomfortably tight.
“I’ll come by the shop later,” Sloane said. “Make sure that asshole from yesterday doesn’t show up again.”
The reminder of yesterday’s assault made Jamie’s stomach clench. With all the werewolf revelations and mind-blowing sex, he’d almost forgotten about the customer who’d gotten violent over snake-handling policies.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” Sloane’s expression went serious, protective. “No one touches you again. Ever.”
The vehemence in his voice should have been concerning. Instead, warmth bloomed in Jamie’s chest. After years of handling everything alone, having someone who wanted to protect him felt like finally wearing armor.
“Okay,” Jamie agreed softly. “I get off at six.”
One more kiss, lighter this time, and Jamie forced himself out of the car. His legs felt wobbly as he climbed the stairs, partly from last night’s activities and partly from the surreal feeling that his entire world had shifted on its axis.
Mated. To Sloane. Who was a wolf.
Jamie climbed the stairs slowly, each step a negotiation with overworked muscles. His keys jangled as he fished them out.
The door swung open, and Jamie stepped inside, already pulling off Sloane’s borrowed shirt as he shut the door. He’d need to change into his own clothes, maybe spray some cologne so he didn’t show up to work smelling like sex and wolf and—
William sat on their couch like he belonged there.
Time stuttered. Jamie’s lungs forgot their purpose, air backing up in his throat. William shouldn’t be here. Couldn’t be here. They’d broken up, Jamie had been clear, this was done—
“Hello, baby.” William’s voice slithered across the space between them, fake-sweet with razors underneath. “Miss me?”
Bile rose in Jamie’s throat. William looked exactly the same—styled hair, designer clothes, that smile that used to make Jamie feel special before he’d learned what hid behind it. But something in his eyes had shifted, the pupils dark and wrong.
“How did you get in?” The words came out steadier than Jamie felt.
“You gave me a key, remember?” William held up the brass key, twirling it between his fingers. “When you loved me.”
No. Jamie had never given him a key. Had been careful about that boundary even when William pushed. Which meant… Had he made a copy? Stolen Nick’s spare?
“You need to leave.” Jamie locked his muscles, refusing to let William see him trembling.
“Leave?” William stood in one fluid motion, and Jamie’s body remembered exactly how fast those hands could move. “After you humiliated me? After you spread your legs for that caveman in the Charger?”
“We broke up.” Jamie kept his voice level, reasonable, even as his heart hammered like crazy. “What I do isn’t your business anymore.”
“Everything you do is my business.” William stepped closer, and the smell hit—whiskey and rage and that cologne Jamie used to love. “You’re mine, Jamie. Always have been. Just needed reminding.”
“Back off,” Jamie said between clenched teeth. “You need to calm the fuck down.”
“Calm?” William’s laugh cracked at the edges. “You want calm after what you did? After you let him touch you?”
Too close now. William’s breath hit Jamie’s face, sour with alcohol and fury. The hands that used to hold Jamie gently flexed at William’s sides, ready to grab, to hurt, to—
Motion blurred. The world tilted. Jamie’s back slammed into the wall hard enough to knock picture frames crooked. Before his brain could process the impact, fingers wrapped around his throat.
Not again. Please not again.
Pressure built instantly, cutting off air, making his vision spark at the edges. William’s face filled his world, twisted with rage that looked almost like grief.
“Did you think about me?” William’s grip tightened, his voice dropping to something intimate and terrible. “When he was fucking you? Did you remember who you belong to?”
Black spots danced in Jamie’s vision. His hands clawed at William’s wrist, nails digging in, but the grip only tightened. His lungs burned, chest heaving for air that wouldn’t come.
“I watched you leave the pet store with him yesterday. Watched you choose him.” William’s free hand traced Jamie’s cheek, gentle even as his other hand squeezed harder.
“I’m going to kill you for that. Kill you and then find him and kill him too.
Make sure everyone knows what happens when someone touches what’s mine. ”
No air. No breath. The world grayed at the edges, sound becoming distant and strange. But through the panic, Jamie’s brain latched onto one clear thought. If he died here, William would go after Sloane.
That couldn’t happen.
Going limp took every ounce of control Jamie possessed. His eyes rolled back, body sagging, hands dropping from William’s wrist. Playing dead when every cell screamed for oxygen.
William’s grip loosened fractionally. “Jamie?”
Now.
Jamie let his full weight drop. William, caught off-guard, couldn’t maintain the hold. Jamie hit the floor hard, knees cracking against hardwood, but he was already moving. Scrambling on hands and knees, lungs pulling in desperate gulps of air.
“You fucking—” William lunged.
Jamie’s bedroom door was closer than the exit. He dove for it, William’s fingers grazing his ankle. The door slammed shut just as William’s body crashed against it, wood groaning under the impact.
Lock. Where was the lock? Jamie’s shaking fingers found the bolt, shoving it home just as the doorknob rattled violently.
“Open this fucking door!” William’s fists hammered against the wood. “You can’t hide from me, Jamie. This is my apartment too. Remember? You promised we’d live together!”
No the hell he hadn’t. William had completely lost his mind.
Phone. Jamie needed his phone. His hands shook so badly it took three tries to pull it from his pocket. Sloane’s number was already pulled up. Thank god for recent calls…
The door shuddered under another impact. Wood splintered near the lock, William putting his full weight behind each blow.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Jamie whispered, pressing himself into the corner between his bed and dresser. Making himself small. The phone rang once. Twice.
“Forget something?” Sloane’s warm voice filled his ear, teasing and fond.
“William’s here,” Jamie gasped out. “He’s trying to break down my door. He said he’s going to kill me. Kill both of us. Please—”
The playfulness vanished from Sloane’s voice, replaced by something dark and dangerous. “I’m coming. Lock yourself in and don’t open that door for anyone but me.”
“Hurry.” The word came out as a sob. Another crack appeared in the door, larger this time. “I think he’s going to—”
The door exploded inward.
* * * *
Sloane wrenched the steering wheel, sending the Charger into a screaming U-turn across Main Street.
Horns blasted as other drivers slammed their brakes, the engine howling as he floored it toward Jamie's apartment complex.
One hand on the wheel, he managed to text Logan.
Just the address and “SOS.” His brother was already in town and would be there faster than any other pack member.
The Charger's suspension bottomed out as he hit the parking lot speed bump at forty.
Sloane abandoned the still-running car directly in front of the entrance, leaping out before it had fully stopped.
He tore the building's front door nearly off its hinges, his wolf clawing just beneath his skin, thirsting for blood.
He never should have left Jamie alone. The thought hammered through his skull with each footfall as he bounded up the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. By the third-floor landing, his vision had narrowed to a crimson tunnel, his wolf’s rage bleeding into everything he saw.
Wood splintered beneath Sloane’s shoulder as he drove through the apartment door. The smell hit him first. Fear, blood, and underneath it all, the wild musk of coyote. His wolf snarled, recognizing another predator in his mate’s territory.
From the bedroom came the sounds of struggle—flesh hitting flesh, furniture scraping across hardwood, Jamie’s pained grunt. Sloane crossed the living room in three strides, his muscles coiled tight with barely leashed violence.
The bedroom door hung off its hinges, revealing a nightmare. William had Jamie pinned against the dresser, one fist buried in his gut while the other drew back for another blow. Purple-black fingerprint bruises marked Jamie’s throat like a grotesque necklace.
A howl tore from Sloane’s throat, primal and furious. He grabbed William by the back of his designer shirt and hurled him through the doorway. The man’s body crashed into the hallway wall, leaving a dent in the drywall before he crumpled to the floor.
William pushed himself up, movements too fluid for someone who’d just been thrown across a room. His lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing canines that were starting to elongate.
“So the wolf finally shows up,” William spat, rolling his shoulders. “Should’ve known Jamie would spread his legs for a stranger.” He spat blood onto the floor.
Sloane stalked forward, letting his own canines drop. Control was everything now. One wrong move and Jamie could get caught in the crossfire.
William lunged first, claws erupting from his fingertips as he slashed at Sloane’s face. Sloane ducked, pivoting to drive his elbow into William’s ribs. Bone cracked under the impact, but William just laughed, twisting to rake claws across Sloane’s shoulder.
Fire bloomed where claws found flesh. Sloane ignored it, using William’s momentum against him, sending him stumbling into the living room. They slammed onto the coffee table, both fighting for dominance. William’s knee found Sloane’s kidney, white-hot agony lancing through his side.
But for every hit William landed, Sloane gave back two with surgical accuracy.
They crashed into the living room, William’s shoulder slamming into the coffee table. Wood exploded into splinters. The coyote came up swinging, wild and vicious, no technique, just raw violence. His knuckles split Sloane’s lip, copper flooding his mouth.
Pain bloomed, hot and immediate, but Sloane had taken worse in pack sparring matches.
William fought like a rabid animal. All aggression, no strategy. Sloane ducked the next wild swing and drove his fist into William’s solar plexus. Air whooshed from the coyote’s lungs. A right hook followed, snapping William’s head to the side. Bone cracked under the impact.