Chapter 12: Her Turn

"You said the kitchen table," I told him.

It was past midnight, and the lodge was dark and the cook had gone to bed.

We had driven home from Harrow Ridge in silence, with his bruise coming up purple and my hand on the gearshift under his.

Margo's whisper had ridden the whole way home with us, and I had turned it over until it wore smooth.

I knew what it was now: a dodge from a woman with a flat stomach and nothing left to say.

I did not know what she thought I was holding, and tonight I was done guessing.

He stood at the sink with a bag of frozen peas against his temple.

"I said the first night," he said. "That was ten days ago."

"You counted."

"I count everything."

I crossed the kitchen and took the peas out of his hand.

I set them in the sink.

"Sit on the table."

"Fern."

"The pack is one thing," I said. "The bed is another. This is neither. This is a table."

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he sat on the edge of the big oak table with his boots on the floor and his hands flat beside him.

He was letting me lead, and I knew what it cost him.

I stepped between his knees and took his face in both hands.

I kissed the bruise first, very lightly, and he shut his eyes.

"You stepped in front of me," I said.

"Yes."

"Nobody has ever done that."

"I know."

"Say it was because you wanted to."

"I wanted to," he said roughly. "I'd do it again, Fern."

I kissed him then, and he pulled me in against him and made a low sound in his throat.

Keep reading free with an account. Start My Alpha Killed Our Pup for His Pregnant Mistress from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.