The house stored a lot of energy, but it was raw power. She’d have to funnel it through her body to make it usable for healing. She reached out to touch Taggert when Durant caught her wrist.
Taggert’s gaze lifted, flickered past hers and he gave a subtle nod. “I’ll grab something to eat while Durant patches you up.”
When she would’ve protested, Taggert trailed a finger down her hand, then left with only a towel around his waist. Her jaw snapped shut. Trust. He was asking her to trust the pack.
Turning to face Durant, she was startled to see the anger on his face. His fierce gaze fastened on the hand Taggert had touched. Then the look disappeared as if it’d never been there.
“You’re so angry.” Despite her own irritation, the need to understand and soothe him refused to go away.
“That boy has a higher standing in the pack than I do.” And he was obviously infuriated by it.
“You and Taggert are the only ones in the pack.” His statement baffled her. “What kind of standings could there be with only two of you?”
“Enforcer. Lover. Breeder. Healer. Soldier.” He rattled off the names as he finished inspecting her shoulder. “You obviously don’t think I fit in the first or last category. You placed yourself in danger with Randolph and again tonight when you didn’t call me for help.”
“You have a club to run, Cassie to protect. I assumed this whole pack thing was a way for you to get something from me. I just hadn’t figured out what yet.” She could’ve bitten her tongue when his hands flexed on her arm. She almost missed the pain that flickered behind his eyes.
“And lovers?” His tone became devoid of emotion as he continued his task.
“You don’t need my permission to take a lover.” That shifters had to ask permission for something so intimate repulsed her.
“If I do, you’ll never select me.”
“Huh?” His answer struck her dumb. She pointed back and forth between them. “As in you and me?” The last word ended on a squeak.
Some of her confusion must have finally pierced his anger. He crowded into her comfort space, not stopping until he had his body pressed up against hers.
His scent actually made her ache to touch him. Only sheer will prevented her from lifting up her hands to caress the hard lines of his chest. She detested being forced into a corner. She was almost grateful that her injuries stopped herself from doing something stupid.
“I don’t know how pack works, but if I take a lover, it’s my choice, not some pack business that needs to be handled.” She sidestepped him, instantly missing the heat of his body. “I agree that you’re pack. You’re welcome in my house.”
“Anytime?” He rummaged in the med box, retrieving ointment and a roll of gauze. He paused and gave her a too casual look as if the answer mattered more than it should.
Her reply was slower in coming, trying to gauge his motives as he busily cut strips then dabbed her shoulder. She couldn’t read him and that only made her more suspicious. “I can have a room prepared where you can leave your things if you’d like.” Those words were hard to get past her lips, half expecting a trap. “But I have one rule.”
The shifting moods that crossed his face froze. He nodded once, watching every nuance of her expression as if her next words were vitally important to him.
“My cases are business. They don’t involve pack. As long as you don’t interfere, we should be fine.” She’d make sure Jackson learned that, too.
“Only if it doesn’t endanger your life.” He quickly countered her offer, his concentration centered on bandaging her shoulder. Unless you looked closer and saw the tightly coiled muscles and the controlled way he held himself.
Raven paused, understanding that this negotiation could be pivotal. “Who gets to decide?”
“Pack votes.” The reply was automatic. He taped the last edge, head ducked to hide a smug smile.
But that meant she got a vote, too. She hesitated a second more, then reluctantly agreed. “But Rylan is included in my pack. And Cassie gets a vote, too.”
His brows lowered, clearly not happy, but he knew better than to push further. “The house is empty. I’ll stay until you hear something from the others.” There was no hesitation in his voice, nor was there a question, just a statement of fact. Bossy cat.
“I’m going to grab a shirt while you wash.” Though he remained uninjured, mud dotted his chest and arms, along with splotches of her blood. The sight halted her in her tracks, and anger roared back into her at the reminder.
He slipped his shirt over his head, washing from the sink, pausing under her perusal. Concern immediately darkened his face, and he turned toward her, dripping wet. “What’s wrong?”