Chapter 9
“You can’t be here when Emma wakes up,” Tracy told him, finality in her tone. She scrupulously tamped down on the regret. That wouldn’t help in this situation.
Hank didn’t look happy about her decision, but he nodded tightly after searching her gaze for a long moment.
“Okay. I’ll go. But think about what happened here, between us.
Has anything ever felt so right before?” He moved close, and she held her ground, but all he did was press a gentle kiss to her forehead before letting her go.
He was right. Being with him had always felt right.
But it had also gone terribly wrong in the past. Not that her baby was wrong, but the whole crazy path her life had taken since meeting Hank hadn’t been the easiest road she’d ever taken.
Known as a woman who liked to do things the hard way, she’d lived up to that dubious reputation since the morning handsome Hank had flown off into the sunrise, leaving Tracy pregnant and alone.
He’d hurt her. Not intentionally. He’d had no way of knowing he’d left her behind with a baby on the way. And she’d been too stubborn to tell him. But the fact that he’d managed to stay away for well over two years… That hurt.
If he’d been thinking about her all that time, why hadn’t he come for her? Why wait until now? Why had he made her wait so long?
Did he really want her at all? Or was it just his conscience rearing its head now that he knew he had responsibilities in the form of one adorable little jaguar kit? And what if Emma had turned out to be a wolf? Would he be so eager to take them on then?
She had no way of knowing. She didn’t know him well enough to trust him, either. Oh, about certain things, yes. He was a good man, at heart, and he was loyal to his Clan. She trusted in that sort of thing. But to trust him with her heart? Her future? Her daughter?
She just wasn’t so sure.
Hank left, feeling both exhilarated by what had happened and flat-assed rejected.
He’d had her in his arms once more, and all had been right with his world…
and then, she’d slipped through his fingers, slipping away from the commitment he wanted so badly.
Damn. When had that happened? When had he gone from wanting to commit to Tracy for Emma’s sake to wanting Tracy beyond all coherent comprehension?
He couldn’t pinpoint the moment, but it had definitely happened.
Maybe when he saw her pretty brown eyes peering up at him over Emma’s dark blonde curls.
Maybe it had been at the soda fountain when she’d gone all protective at seeing Pax and Ari with him.
Or maybe it was when they’d sat in Tracy’s garden with the sun shining down on her wavy chestnut hair.
He wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened or when, but his inner cat was on board with his human half—finally. Both sides of him needed Tracy. There was no other woman who even came close to being what he wanted and needed in his life. Only Tracy. Forever.
But how in the world was he going to convince her of that?
They hadn’t gotten off to the greatest start.
There would always be doubts about his motivations now that Emma was on the scene.
But he couldn’t bring himself to regret Emma’s existence.
He would be hollow without her giggling laugh.
Empty without her tiny growls. Now that he’d seen her, he would always need her in his life. Always.
Just like her mother.
He needed to mount a campaign to win Tracy’s heart. He didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he had to figure it out. He had no other choice.
That thought firmly in mind, Hank went back to the hotel where he and the jaguar twins had been given a giant suite that had two separate bedrooms—one with a king-sized bed that Hank had claimed and one that had two double beds that worked for the twins.
There was a sitting area with some big chairs, a couch, and a huge television, too.
When Hank entered the suite, he was confronted immediately by the coppery scent of blood.
Senses going to full alert in the blink of an eye, he took in the situation.
The twins were sitting in front of the TV.
One was sprawled on the couch, flipping channels between two different basketball games, the other was in an armchair, doing something to his arm.
It was his arm that was bleeding, and the innards of a first aid kit were strewn on the low coffee table in front of him.
A sharp acrylic scent reached Hank’s sensitive nose, making him jerk his head to the side. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded. The twins didn’t even look up. They’d had to have heard him walking down the hall long before he’d entered the room, but they didn’t seem in the least concerned.
“Numbnuts zigged when he should have zagged,” Ari said of his twin as he flipped back to the other basketball game with seeming indifference.
“Fucker had a knife,” Ari grumbled, still working on his arm. “What kind of shifter uses a knife in a shifter fight? Fucking wolves.”
“You were fighting with the wolves?” Hank asked, moving closer, having locked the door behind himself before stepping farther into the room.
“No choice, really,” Pax said philosophically as he straightened from his reclining position on the couch and tossed the remote control onto the coffee table.
“We got jumped, so we fought back, trying to do as little damage as possible while still letting those jackasses know we could wipe the floor with them all.”
“But one of them got in a lucky shot with a switchblade. Little punk,” Ari growled.
“How old were these wolves?” Hank began to get suspicious.
“Juveniles,” Pax answered immediately. “Ranging in age from about seventeen to twenty. Immature and full of themselves. Good pack fighters, though. There were a lot of them.”
Pax got up and retrieved three beers from the small fridge the brothers must’ve stocked earlier.
He threw one to Hank and put another down on the coffee table in front of Ari, then reclaimed his seat and popped the tab on his own.
Hank nodded his thanks before opening his own can of beer and taking a long pull.
“We didn’t hurt any of them too bad,” Ari claimed as Hank took the chair opposite his, getting a closer look at what Ari was doing. He had a tube of super glue and was gluing a gash on his arm back together somewhat awkwardly.
“Super glue?” Hank asked, nodding toward Ari’s arm. “Does that really work?”
Hank had seen something like it in the military, but that had been stuff made specifically for bonding human skin. He’d never thought to try hardware-store super glue for the same purpose.
“All I need is something to hold the skin together for a little while, until the healing kicks in,” Ari said absently as he continued to work on the long gash. “That way, it won’t scar too much.”
Jaguars, like all shifters, had accelerated healing abilities.
That was just part of who they were. As a result, they seldom needed things like bandages or sutures.
Though, if a cut was deep enough, a stitch or two would help hold things together until a shifter’s natural healing abilities revved up and healed it from the inside out.
“It’s actually better than using a needle on myself,” Ari said a moment later. “This just stinks a bit until it’s dry, and somehow, as my body heals, it expels the glue. Looks gross, but this shit works.”
Hank shook his head. “Good to know.”
Hank decided to pass along the information to the Clan’s healer.
Jaguars did get banged up a lot, and having sharp claws meant the occasional slice, so having an alternative to sewing wounds closed with something readily available in any dollar store would be good information to pass around the Clan.
He decided to put a tube of super glue into his own first aid kit next time he had a chance—as long as the Clan’s healer gave the all clear.
While he liked and respected the twins, he preferred to have a trained medical opinion on whether or not the chemicals in the store-bought super glue would be safe for regular use.
Hank drank his beer and pretended to watch the game until Ari finished with his glue. The scent of the acrylic was strong, but the air circulation system in the room was sufficient to whisk away the smell in short order. Ari must have cranked the system up before he started working on his arm.
“What can you tell me about the kids who attacked you?” Hank asked finally, as he finished his beer and set the can on the table.
“Not much,” Pax said. “Kids. Looking for trouble. Raging hormones. You know the type.”
Hank nodded. “Any injuries to them I should know about?”
“Nah,” Ari said, sitting back in the chair and discarding the paper towels he’d used to sop up the blood. “We bloodied their noses but made sure not to break anything. They were just kids, after all. Once they realized what they were up against, they tucked their tails and ran home to mama.”
“What about the one that cut you?” Hank asked of Ari.
“This?” Ari looked scornfully at his arm.
“I’ve had worse. Actually, when they scented the blood, everybody froze, and a split second later, they started running away.
I don’t think they’d intended to go that far, and even the blood scent didn’t stir their wolves, as I thought it would. ” Ari looked philosophical.
“These kids haven’t been blooded. Not like us,” Pax put in. “They were raised here, in their quaint little town. Protected. Safe in their Pack. First scent of blood, they probably feared the censure of their Alpha for an unsanctioned attack more than their wolves wanted the blood.”
“Strange way to raise kids,” Ari put in, looking at his twin.
“They’ve been safe their entire lives,” Pax said, nodding slowly.
“We sure as hell weren’t raised that way. We were tougher at their age,” Ari said with a grim tone to his voice.