Rebecca’s Wolves(48)

They didn’t talk about it much, but it was always there under the surface. Sometimes in his face. Other times subtle.

This was monumental. If he was reading things right, it was becoming increasingly obvious the spirits had aligned to ensure he met his two mates at the perfect moment in time to keep his woman safe from danger.

“Do you think…?” Griffen asked the question silently, letting it hang in the air between them.

Miles didn’t know how to respond. He shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

Finally, Rebecca straightened. She wiped her eyes on her tank top and pasted on a fake smile. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I can be emotional.”

Miles pulled her into his side. He stroked a hand over her head and down her braid. “Understandable. You’re entitled.”

She still shook, her body trembling as though she was cold.

No one said a word. The world was silent. Not even the animals, the birds, or the breeze blowing through the trees chose to interrupt their introspection as they all sat staring out at the landscape.

Rebecca spoke first. “We should go back to your place. I’m exhausted.”

Griffen took her back from Miles and held her against his side, fastening her seatbelt while Miles started the truck.

They rode in silence the ten minutes back to the house.

When Miles pulled up to the front of his home, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled his skin. He turned off the truck, but reached out a hand to keep Griffen from opening the door.

“What is it?” Griffen asked.

“I don’t know. Something isn’t right,” he muttered. “Stay here.” Miles opened his door and climbed down from the cab. He strode across the lawn to the front door. It stood ajar. He gave it a kick and peered inside. “Fuck,” he mouthed. And then, “Son of a bitch.” The small window next to the door had been broken with a rock that lay just inside the door.

He glanced around. There were no other cars or any signs of life. But someone had been there trashing the place while they’d been gone.

“Hello?” he called, but he knew there was no one inside. Whoever it was had left their scent lingering. It wasn’t a smell he recognized. And whoever had been there was long gone.

Still, he entered cautiously and surveyed the damage. The front room wasn’t bad. Not as bad as he’d originally thought. Things were turned over, cushions on the floor, chairs tipped on their side, but no severe damage.

As he made his way deeper into the house, he found much of the same. No serious damage, just a mess. What the hell?

The master bedroom where he’d spent the last twenty-four hours claiming his mate was tossed more than the rest of the house. And then something on the bed caught his eye.

He took two strides to reach the side of his bed and lifted the shreds of pink cotton material. “Fuck.” He turned to ensure neither of his mates had followed him and then gathered up all the scraps and wadded them into a ball. He opened a drawer to his dresser and buried the evidence under his T-shirts.

The last thing he needed was for his mate to see anything that upsetting in her precarious state of mind.

Finally, he glanced around again and stepped back through the house and out to the truck. “Coast is clear. Whoever did this is gone now.”





Chapter Seventeen


Rebecca felt sick to her stomach. After an enormous breakfast and an equally huge lunch, she felt the bile rising in her throat at the emotional turmoil assaulting her from every direction.

“Who would do this?” she muttered under her breath as she stepped into Miles’ house. The place was trashed, but nothing was destroyed. It looked more like a twister had come through. As Miles and Griffen started putting things to rights, she realized nothing was broken, just flipped over, as though someone had been looking for something. Or maybe even set the scene to mask their true intentions.

Miles put the cushions on the couch and then physically escorted her to sit. “Love, sit down.” He gave her a stern look.

“Shouldn’t we call the cops?”

“And tell them what?” Griffen asked. “Some angry spirit is pissed off with us and wants to ensure we do exactly as the specter wants?” He gave a sharp chuckle that didn’t have an ounce of humor.

Miles stiffened where he was bent sweeping up glass. “I’ll call the local authorities in Sojourn. They’re all shifters. We do need to report this.”

“Can spirits throw rocks through windows?” she asked.

Miles pursed his lips and didn’t meet her gaze.

The answer was no. And her Native American mate was concerned.

She decided not to press the issue for the time being.

Griffen leaned over her from behind the couch, tossed a throw pillow at the end, nudged her to lie down, and covered her with an intricately sewn blanket, covered in beautifully patterned geometric designs in browns, yellows, oranges, and reds.