Page 24 of Taken By The Wolves (Blackwood Forest #2)

SCARLET

I settle on the couch with the baby curled against me. In sleep, her breath stirs in a soft rhythm, her tiny chest rising and falling against my heart. The scent of supper drifts from the kitchen, where Finn is chopping and seasoning.

Nixon and Reed slipped out a while ago, shifting outside the door with the intention to track Aura and discover more about her abandoned child.

I don’t know where they’ve gone, but I’ve been anxious since they left.

Their absence is a gaping hole, the cabin too big and too empty.

This world is so foreign that it’s hard for me to accept, but the real danger they might be in hangs like black drapes over my heart.

I shift slightly to cradle the baby more comfortably.

Her little fingers curl into my shirt. I stare at her perfect form; her tiny red curls have tightened, her rosebud mouth moves as though she’s dreaming about milk, and her tiny fingernails seem too thin to be real.

She’s a warm weight, and my heart is like a gently inflating balloon, the part of me that cracked open when the doctor told me my dreams of motherhood were unlikely to ever be made real, sealing inch by inch.

It’s dangerous to want and to hope, but I’m helpless to resist. The hole in my heart craves to be filled.

From the corner of the room, Finn’s voice drifts over: “She’s asleep? Dinner’s almost ready.”

I turn to rest the sleeping baby on the couch beside me, tucking pillows around her in case she rolls.

Standing, I approach Finn as questions tumble through my mind. “So… what is it like?” I ask. “Being a shifter.”

He pauses at the door, wiping his hands on a towel. “Do you mean the shifting?” He holds the knife above the zucchini. “Or being part-wolf?”

“Both.”

He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “I don’t know any different, Scarlet. When you’re born as something, it’s all you ever know.”

“But you know the difference. The way you are when you’re a man, and the way you are when you’re a wolf.”

“I’m the same person inside, but a simpler version of me when I have fur.” His gaze slides to the sleeping child and back to me, thoughtfully. “When I’m a wolf, I can run free. The world is closer, the smells are more intense. My nature is… different.”

“Different?”

“As a wolf, I’d kill on instinct. As a man, I’d have to be pushed to the end of reason to do the same.”

He pauses, then his voice lowers. “The feeling of it, Scarlet. Being a wolf… It’s as if your body becomes the focus, and your mind goes quiet.

There’s no doubt or overthinking, just pure clarity and instinct.

It’s intoxicating. And terrifying. Because the part of you that’s human doesn’t get to steer.

You have to trust the beast in you. And if you don’t…

” He lifts his eyes, their golden flecks catching the light. “The wolf will eat the man.”

A shiver runs up my spine, and I take a step back, forcing my hands into my jeans so he doesn’t see them shake.

“And your family… don’t wolves live in big groups… packs?”

“We used to, but there can be friction and sometimes, it’s easier to split off and start a pack of your own.” Finn’s eyes trail away, and his voice, too. I wait as he seems to brace himself to continue, straightening his spine. “It’s what Hunter did.”

“Hunter’s a wolf?” I ask. I suspected but didn’t want to assume.

“Hunter, Robert, and Evan are all bear shifters.”

“Bears?” It makes sense. They’re so big and burly, with dark brown curly hair and serious chocolate brown eyes.

“And Goldie?” She’s tiny and not bearlike.

“She’s human.” He resumes chopping the zucchini into thin slices. “Their mate.”

“Mate?”

“Fated for each other,” Finn says.

I snort and then realize my stupidity. That’s the part I find unbelievable? Not the men changing into ferocious apex predators, or the babies that are furry one minute and wrapped in human skin the next. It’s the fated love that I have trouble comprehending.

“You don’t believe that people can be fated to meet?” he asks.

“I guess I never thought about it. I haven’t seen a lot of true love in my life. Most couples I know have a begrudging tolerance of each other.”

“That isn’t how it works with shifters.”

“So, where’s your mate?” I ask. “You’ll need one, won’t you. If you want to create a pack of your own.”

“We will,” he says, staring at me with soft dark brown eyes. I don’t know why, but his attention and words make me flush hot. Our night together seems like a hundred years ago, but it was only a matter of hours.

I pull my phone from my pocket and scan my emails. “I’ve sold all your furniture, Finn.”

He shakes his head, but smiles.

“And they’re desperate for more. I’ve got five inquiries here for the first sight of anything else produced by my handsome new furniture designer.”

Finn’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep up with that kind of demand. I’m not a mass producer.”

“You don’t have to be. The longer it takes you to deliver, the more in demand you’ll seem and the more people will want what you create.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he says.

I approach the sink to wash the baby’s dirty bottle, but glance over my shoulder at the closed front door. “I’m worried about Nixon and Reed. Why are they taking so long?”

“Our territory is large. There’s a lot to search, and they won’t want to return unless they’ve found something that’s going to guide our decision.”

“Maybe I can take the baby home with me,” I blurt, before I’ve had a chance to think about what I’m saying.

Finn frowns. “You can’t raise a wolf shifter in the city, Scarlet. She’ll shift at any time. How are you going to explain the appearance of a wolf cub in your shopping cart when you’re at the store?”

That’s a good point. My heart sinks, and he must see my expression fall.

“Do you want kids?” he asks.

“More than anything,” I admit, then go further. “But it isn’t on the cards for me.”

“Why not?” He tips his head, studying me.

“I have a physical problem. The doctors told me it’s not going to happen.”

His brow furrows. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug, my throat tightening with emotion I haven’t needed to expel for months. I’ve gotten good at not thinking about the things that tear out my insides. I swallow it back, forcing a bright smile. “You guys are cheffy.”

“We like nice food, so we had to learn to cook it,” he says. His eyes are so watchful, like they can see through my protective masks to the kernel of truth and sadness at my core.

I turn to stare at the bundle of sleeping baby still curled peacefully, in human form, on the sofa.

Who knows what Nixon’s going to say on his return?

Maybe they’ll take the baby back to her mother, and I’ll never see her again.

The thought brings metallic-tasting tears to the back of my throat.

I drift back to the couch and lift her into my arms, smelling her soft head, and close my eyes at her weight and warmth.

I’m not going to let a moment of it pass me by.

If it’s possible, I already love her, and I don’t even know her name.