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“What in the actual fuck?” I snap. “You guys know her?”
A moot question. Obviously, they do.
“Brinlee.” Sawyer starts toward her and we all follow him, trooping behind him like we’re fucking trained monkeys. I want to stop, but the pull is stronger—his pull, a kind of magnetic draw, and then… the girl.
My nostrils flare as we approach her.
That faint, sweet scent.
My dick twitches.
My breath catches.
Fuck.
A new player enters the game.
Time to hit pause.
15
SAWYER
“Brinlee.” I stride toward her, not sure what the hell I’m doing. The McGraw Pack has rattled me, even though they’ve been nice and polite—so why? I can’t even tell you.
But rattled I am, and it occurs to me as I stop in front of her that I had resolved not to push her, not to frighten her into running away, and yet here I am.
On top of that, I’m very aware of the McGraw Pack at my back. They’ve stalked after me and now they tower behind me like basalt pillars in a temple of Doom.
Okay, I was reading a bad fantasy book until late last night, but can you blame me?
An uncertain smile flits over her face. She looks tired, I think randomly. And too thin. Like she needs to be taken care of.
Like she needs me to take care of her.
And I want to. But when I reach for her hand, she draws back. Her gaze bounces between me and the men behind me.
I glare at them over my shoulder. “Back off. You’re scaring her.”
“You know us,” Archer says, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s not talking to me. “Brinlee. We met outside the shelter, remember?”
After a moment, she nods. Wipes her hands on her short denim skirt. She’s wearing All-Stars and an oversized shirt, her blond curls framing her cute face, giving her the appearance of a doll.
“Are you an omega?” Kyrian asks, and twisting about, I shush him. He blinks owlishly at me. “What?”
“Can’t you go and have your coffee and cake, leave us to talk?”
“What if we want to talk to her, too?” Roman asks.
But I know her. I’ve observed her over the past months, and predictably, she’s already backing away.
“No, Brinlee. Wait.” Turning again at the pack, I glare harder. “Go. Shoo.”
“Did you just shoo us?” Archer looks amused.
“Yes. Go have your coffee. Fuck off. Go on.”
“So damn bossy,” Kyrian says, pale brows arching, though he looks strangely pleased about it. “And such a filthy mouth.”
