Chapter 10 - Rick
Rick had never suffered fools easily. But one of the only things on this planet guaranteed to make him lose his grip on his patience was someone believing him to be a fool.
And John Heath, in all his arrogance, had made that mistake.
Rick had kept his distance from Rosalia for the rest of the party, allowing her to enjoy the wonderful day she had organized for his daughter. The two of them were as thick as thieves, running about the place, laughing together, watching the ballet.
He had stayed beyond it all, a drink in hand, his pack brothers coming one by one to check in on him. They were, all of them, quick to work it out. He didn’t need to say a word. One look at his narrowed gaze following John Heath’s every breath was enough for them to piece it together.
Heath bore Rick’s fury with practiced ease, never once meeting his eye, never once rising to the bait.
Rick had hoped he would look over. Had hoped he would sneer, growl, mock. Do anything to give Rick the excuse he needed to drag him into the woods and rip him limb from limb.
But the older male was cunning. Patient. Infuriatingly controlled. And before the sun had even begun to set, he said his goodbyes to Felix and left with his men. He didn’t say a word to Rick. Or Rosalia.
Perhaps he knew that would be pushing Rick too far.
Because there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that Heath knew Rick didn’t believe his lies for a second. He hadn’t been checking in on Rosalia. Or giving her tough love.
He had been treating her as he always had. With cruelty, disdain, and mockery.
Except the difference was, Rosalia was no longer just Heath’s daughter.
She was a Reinhardt. She was his wife. She was in his house and under his protection.
And he would not have her threatened under his roof. Not as long as she called it home.
So yes, John Heath thought him a fool if he didn’t expect that one day, sooner or later, Rick would deliver unto him every ounce of cruelty he had ever shown Rosalia.
He didn’t bother questioning why he was quite so enraged. He didn’t particularly care. Whether it was hurt pride, bruised ego, or righteous protectiveness, it didn’t matter.
Rick was a shifter. A wolf. And a threat was a threat. An insult was an insult. It wasn’t any deeper than that.
It had been an almighty test to let Rosalia slip out from the kitchen and away from him.
Whatever pretty platitudes she gave him, he could scent her fear for her father.
She didn’t need to hide it, didn’t need to be ashamed of it.
Rick was well aware of the terror a father could inspire.
Sure, he had killed his own bastard of a father years ago and claimed the family seat, but only when the strength of his pack brothers was assured.
They were, both of them, pack animals. It wasn’t natural for them to face any threat alone.
And Rosalia didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t alone anymore. He had seen flashes of her fury, her rage at her father. At herself. And he had wanted to catch her wrist as she fled past him and tell her that she could let go. She could unleash her anger. He would be right there at her side.
But he hadn’t. She wasn’t ready. And he had sworn to her that he would not touch her without her explicit consent.
That extended even to holding her hand.
She had left the party before the bonfires had worn themselves out, excusing herself to Daisy and the others before slipping away.
He stayed, watching Eva as she joined in the games with Felix’s boys and Nicolas’s daughter, nearly tripping over her own feet in her efforts to keep up with them. His daughter was happier than he had ever seen her before, and it softened the edges of his rage.
By the time everyone left, his temper had cooled into a bubbling irritation, an itch he couldn’t scratch. He wanted to run. To fight. To face the threat head-on.
But that was not possible. And so he did the next best thing.
He poured himself a drink, and he brooded alone in his office.
There was a reason Heath had visited. And it wasn’t for Eva’s birthday.
There was something more going on.
He stared into the fire, eyes narrowing as he played the memory over and over in his head. The hissed insult. Rosalia’s tears. The sharp grip on her shoulder.
Heath had wanted to corner her. No doubt for information, but the question remained: what information did he want?
The Iron Walkers and the Green Mountain Pack were, at least for the time being, allies.
It would be incredibly poor form for an ally to try and gather intelligence at a child’s birthday party.
Unless…unless Rosalia was in on it.
He shook his head, knocking back some of his drink.
That was utterly ridiculous. She had never once shown the slightest interest in his work.
The only pack events she had attended had been her own damn wedding and the birthday party today.
And if her father was questioning her, it hardly seemed like she was a willing participant in the conversation.
Not every female on the planet was Zara.
He sneered at the unwelcome image of Eva’s mother that flashed through his mind. The sour bitch hadn’t even called to wish Eva a happy birthday. Why would she, when there was nothing in it for her?
Rosalia was nothing like Zara.
But still, the thought burrowed its way into his brain like a worm. What if she was acting? Playing the damsel in distress to throw him off the scent? Painting herself as John’s victim to earn his trust, his protection?
Scoffing, he knocked back the rest of his drink. Christ, he could be a suspicious bastard when he was in a bad mood.
And he was in a decidedly foul mood. His wolf was practically tearing at his skin to be released, and he rolled his shoulders back, cricking his neck.
He sprang up from his chair, pacing the floor a few times before wrenching the door open. He would check in on Eva. Perhaps that would do something to calm the incessant need pounding within his skull to defend his territory.
But when he softly opened the door to her bedroom, alarm shot through him at her empty bed. He reared back, growling sharply, fearing the worst, when his senses kicked in.
Even from across the house, he could hear her. She was in the East Wing.
With Rosalia.
Rick’s hands balled into fists.
He hadn’t wanted to see Rosalia. Not when he was like this. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.
But his need to check on his daughter was greater, adrenaline still pumping through his veins at his earlier panic. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned down the corridor.
He didn’t disguise his footsteps as he went. He didn’t want Rosalia thinking he was trying to sneak up on her. He had no doubt that, after today, her own senses would be on high alert.
Indeed, when he knocked smartly on her door, he heard her intake of breath.
“Come in.”
Schooling his features into neutral passivity, he walked in, eyes scanning the room instinctively.
But it was just Rosalia, wrapped tightly in a silk robe, and his daughter nestled into her side, an open book in front of them. Eva had been on the cusp of sleep, her eyelids heavy, but at her father’s entrance, she perked up.
Rosalia placed a bookmark between the pages, closing the book gently, nudging at Eva’s sleepy body. “It’s past your bedtime, sweetheart. Why don’t you head to bed and let me talk with your father?”
Eva groaned, “Can’t I sleep in here with you?”
Rosalia laughed softly. “No, my love. Bedtime. Come on, now.”
Rick didn’t interrupt as Rosalia climbed out of bed to coax Eva to her feet, smoothing her curls back from her face with maternal softness. Eva practically melted into her gentle touch, a contented smile on her face as she soaked up Rosalia’s affection.
He swallowed, something warm twisting in his chest at the sight before him.
Unfortunately, in his current mood, the shadow of that caring emotion unfurled, whispering to him that he needed to defend. To attack whatever threatened them. His muscles bunched, and his wolf practically howled. He ground his teeth together, determined not to lose his control.
Rosalia, however, had noticed his barely-contained rage, her shoulders stiff as she encouraged Eva forward. He wanted to shout that she didn’t need to be scared. She didn’t need to fear him or his loss of control.
None of it was aimed at her.
In an effort to soothe his boiling blood, he scooped his daughter up, inhaling her sweet, sleepy scent as she yawned into his shoulder.
His cub was safe in his arms.
Rosalia was safe in this room.
He didn’t need to fight. Not right now.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said curtly to Rosalia, not waiting for her response before leaving the room, Eva already falling asleep in his arms. Nothing short of settling her into bed himself would suffice in his current state.
She was already snoring gently as he nudged open the door to her room and pulled back the covers, gently placing her down before tucking her in. He stared at her for a moment, taking in her chubby face, relaxed in sleep.
He breathed in once. Then twice.
Before he left, he couldn’t help but check her room, scenting every corner, every nook and cranny.
His wolf insisted on it.
He even opened his phone, activating the cameras and intruder alarms at the window. Normally, he didn’t bother with them, pettily annoyed at Nicolas’s technology in his house, but tonight he wanted the security. The peace of mind.
He had been like this before. Worse, even.
Most recently, in the days after Red Teeth’s kidnapping of the pack females and subsequent destruction of the Pine Shadow Club.
He had spent every night for a full week shifted into a wolf at night, guarding Eva’s door.
He’d barely slept. It was only when Eva had tripped over him in the middle of the night and screamed loudly enough to wake the dead had he snapped out of it.