Page 45 of Arranged Wolf's Nanny

She stopped short, her chest rising and falling, her retort dying on her lips.

He realized too late that he’d struck something within her. Something deep and visceral and bloody.

Tears welled in her eyes as her breathing picked up pace, panic taking over.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, backing towards the door, “I thought I could…thought I could manage it, but…But I can’t!”

“Rosalia,” he said, striding after her as she turned and fled, “Rosalia!”

She ignored him, racing down the stairs, her white robe billowing after her.

He chased her down and out into the garden, but she wasfast. And she wanted to get away from him. She wanted to run.

And he had once told her that should she decide to run, he would not stop her.

“Fuck!” he yelled into the night air, pacing a circles as she disappeared into the trees. The ripping of fabric and wrenching of bones echoed from the forest.

She had shifted.

He felt the call of it. The singing in his blood. His wolf commanded him to give chase.

He fell to his knees, fingers burying in the dirt, screwing his eyes shut.

He would not chase her. He wouldnothunt her down like she was some sort of animal. He would not lose control.

Fuck.

She’d finally let loose. Finally, she showed him her fire.

And God help him, he’d never wanted her more.

Chapter 11 - Rosalia

Rosalia thundered through the trees, her paws pounding over the earth. She didn’t care that she wasn’t quiet. Didn’t feel the branches whipping and catching at her fur. She barely even saw the path ahead of her.

All she knew was that she had to carry on running. Had to get out of there.

She inhaled lungful after lungful of icy night air, desperate to rid herself of the clawing panic in her chest.

It was too much. All of it was too much. Her father, her fear…

Rick.

She wanted to be strong. She wanted it so, so badly. She wanted her life to be her own. Her choices to be her own.

But she was so scared. And she longed for someone else to take it all away. And that was aweakness.

But maybe it isn’t.

She growled, pushing the voice away, the one that told her the only cage she was trapped in was one of her own making. One of her own stubbornness.

Rick told you. He told you it doesn’t make you weak to let him protect you.

Snarling, she pushed herself harder, willing the burn in her limbs to drown out her thoughts.

Maybe that’s what trust is? What a pack is? Allowing yourself to be vulnerable and rely on others’ strength, just as you offer them your own?

A heavy branch lashed her shoulder, and she welcomed the bite of pain, not allowing it to slow her down.