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"The information I received indicates your mother."
Those pale, unsettling eyes locked onto mine, slicing through the dim light of the dashboard. Once again, it felt as though she could see right through my skin, down to the marrow of my bones, reading every thought I’d ever buried.
"That doesn't surprise me. My mother is power-hungry. She'll do anything to get more of it, including selling her daughter to the highest bidder."
"My family didn't pay for you."
"Didn't you?"
I pulled up to the house and put the truck in park, killing the engine's rumble. The headlights faded, leaving us in the amber glow of the estate’s security lights. I turned in my seat to face her, resting one forearm on the steering wheel.
"I'm not going to keep paying for our parents' decisions," I said. "And I don't want you to, either. I don't want us playing these games, Rosalind. I want us on the same page. Allies. Working together to protect what's ours instead of letting them pull the strings."
"Allies?" A faint, unreadable smile touched the corner of her lips. "Does that mean you want my help to take down my mother?"
"That's not what I—"
"Because I'd be more than happy to dethrone the bitch."
CHAPTER TWENTY
ROSALIND
Gunnar stepped down from the truck, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel. A second later, his massive hands wrapped around my waist and lifted me down to the driveway. His touch left a lingering trail of heat across my lower back and hips. The moment he released his grip, my skin prickled with a sense of loss.
"Do you need my guidance?"
If this had been one of my mother’s guards—men who had known me for years—he would have hovered over me, clutching my arm, treating me like a fragile doll, completely oblivious to the fact that I could navigate my own home with my useless eyes closed.
Gunnar didn't see me as incapable. But I wanted his hands on me.
"Guide me up the steps."
Mistake. I had just admitted out loud that I remembered there were steps leading up to the porch. If Gunnar caught the slip, he didn't comment on it. Instead of taking my hand, he stepped close and slid his heavy arm higher up, wrapping it securely around my shoulder to guide me up the stone stairs. His solid frame felt like a furnace against my side.
I found myself leaning into his hulking body, wanting his heat and weight to cover me completely. Just as he had done back in the forest when he’d pinned my wolf to the damp moss and overpowered me. A needy throb pulsed between my thighs. My mind raced, trying to calculate how I could get him back on top of me the moment we crossed the threshold of the manor. Before I could plan a move, the heavy front door swung open, and the quiet shattered.
"Rosalind!" Honeysuckle reached me as Astrid made a beeline in my direction. Her shadowy outline grew larger, then stopped abruptly a few feet away. Her breath caught. "What the fuck, Gunnar?"
I didn't need sight to know what had stunned her into silence. I was naked, covered in leaves and dirt, wrapped in nothing but Gunnar's oversized leather jacket. "I shifted. I needed to let my animal out and run. Gunnar protected me while I did."
Astrid huffed in indignation. Then she yanked me from Gunnar's hold. I almost clawed her hand to get her off me. The only person I wanted touching me was my husband.
"Come on," Astrid demanded. "I brought the clothes we bought back from the city. I'll help you clean up and change. Gunnar, Ma and Dad want to talk to you right now."
Quick footsteps bounded down the upper hall toward us. The green scent of fresh-cut grass followed a second later. Ivar sucked in a breath. His nostrils flared with another audible inhale as he took in the scents clinging to me—damp earth, crushed leaves, sweat, and far too much Gunnar. And likely the fact that I was showing a lot of skin with only Gunnar's jacket just barely covering my ass.
"Hey, Rosie."
My lips pinched at the nickname, but I didn't feel the need to correct the little pup on using my full name. I kinda liked the boyish charm attached.
"There’s a small lip on this next step and the carpet gets a little bunched up near the top tread."
"She knows how to walk," Gunnar called from the bottom of the staircase.
"I’m just being a gentleman." Ivar insisted, his voice was helpful rather than husky.
"She's not some damsel. She can go up the stairs by herself. You don't have to treat her like she's helpless because she's not."
