Chapter Nine: The Wolf's Claim
1089 Words
Ethan’s POV
Hours later, I wake when the convoy pulls into a hotel parking lot in Green River. I step out of the car, scanning the area, and motion to one of my soldiers. He approaches, his weapon tucked discreetly beneath his jacket to avoid drawing attention.
“Go to the pharmacy. Get a first aid kit, sutures, and a needle.”
“Yes, sir.”
He leaves, and I open the car door. Daniel unbuckles Rose’s seatbelt, and I lift her into my arms. Her face is still damp with sweat. Pressing my cheek to her forehead, I feel the heat has dropped slightly, but she’s still far too warm. Her head lolls against my chest, her forehead resting in the crook of my neck. Fragile. Breakable with the slightest touch.
The urge to smooth her tangled hair rises inside me, an instinct I’m not used to. The scent clinging to her skin, wolf blood, wounded and raw, rips through me. It’s primal, protective. As if she belongs to my pack. As if she belongs to me.
“Let’s go,” Daniel says, stepping ahead to clear the path inside.
We take the elevator up, my men splitting off in pairs to secure the perimeter. Kai pushes open the door to the rented room, and I carry Rose in. Laying her face down on the bed, I peel off the blood-stained jacket pressed against her back. Carefully, I pull at her shirt to check the damage. The gash is the length of my finger, about an inch deep. Oddly, the edges already look slightly sealed, as though the wound is knitting itself faster than it should. Another confirmation of what I’ve begun to suspect: her bloodline isn’t ordinary.
“Get me wet towels,” I order.
“That’s going to scar,” Kai mutters, stepping closer as Daniel hands me a towel. “You know you’re not supposed to lift her shirt, right?” His brow arches, arms crossed, waiting for my answer.
“Of course I know, idiot.” I shove him aside. Tradition. Even if we’re engaged, I can’t touch her until the marriage is official.
Still, I tear the fabric wider around the wound, just enough to clean without dishonoring her. I press the towel to the dried blood, wiping carefully, forcing my hands to stay controlled. The room feels like a cage, everyone watching me too closely. The scent of wounded wolf thickens, stirring something savage inside me. My instincts demand I sink my teeth into the wound, heal her with my Alpha essence.
“Don’t you idiots have something better to do?” I fling the bloodied towel at Kai.
“Never seen you take care of a woman before,” he smirks. “Something you’re not telling us?”
“We’ll talk in New York.” I rise from the bed, striding to the window. “How long until the helicopter gets here?”
“Two hours, sir,” Trent reports.
“Patrol the perimeter. Leave us alone.”
The soldiers file out, leaving only me, Daniel, and Kai. They ease into a looser stance once the others are gone.
“So what do we do with her?” Kai asks. “She needs treatment. Wrapping it over her shirt isn’t going to cut it.”
“Any word from Valentine?” I press.
Daniel shakes his head. “Clifford said the Capo’s under attack at the casino. A bomb went off half an hour ago. Unless the Boss intervenes, we’re not getting through to him.”
“Then stay alert.”
A knock at the door. Daniel opens it and accepts the first aid kit. I sit on the edge of the bed and dig through the supplies. Pouring antiseptic, I flush the wound, then pack it with gauze and tape it down. No sutures. It’ll have to hold.
Her shirt is ruined, soaked with blood. With a tilt of my head, I signal for the others to turn around. I pull a clean shirt from my bag and return to the bed.
Carefully, I lift Rose against me. One by one, I undo the buttons of her blouse. Beneath, her pink lace bra is torn at the center—where she must have hidden her blade. My hand itches to touch her, her damp skin glistening under the light, her breasts straining against the fabric. I force my gaze away, focusing on the task.
As I slip my hand beneath the fabric to open it, a weak grip tightens around my wrist.
“No.” Her voice is hoarse but firm.
I meet her green eyes, wide with fear and pleading.
“You need to change,” I murmur.
“I… I’ll do it myself.” She pushes, struggling upright. Her face contorts with pain.
“Fine.”
I steady her by the waist, her body trembling, sweat beading down her pale neck. She glares at me, stubborn even as her strength wanes. Slowly, she peels off the ruined blouse. Her soft groan cuts through me. My hand rests firm on her hip, holding her steady as I slip the clean shirt onto her arms, one at a time.
Her gaze never leaves mine, not out of fear, but searching for reassurance. When I button the shirt closed, her breathing slows. Her eyes drift shut again, her body slumping against my chest as she falls back into unconsciousness. Her hair brushes against my nose, heavy with the scent of blood and sweat, of the hell she’s endured.
I lower her gently, laying her face down again. Wiping the damp strands from her forehead, I check for any other wounds. Nothing.
“You shouldn’t get involved with her,” Daniel warns quietly. “Bartolomeu would never allow a marriage with his Rapunzel.”
“A Capo doesn’t tell a Boss ‘no,’” I say with a thin smile, savoring the truth only I know. “Focus on the mission.”
They fall silent, eyes shifting back toward the windows.
Bartolomeu Valentine has bigger problems to explain, his territory under siege, his men scattered, than worrying about his daughter’s hand.
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Author’s Note
This chapter shows the first real collision between Ethan’s duty and his instincts. For the first time, he’s forced to care for Rose up close, touching, protecting, almost claiming. His wolf sees her as something more, even if tradition and politics say otherwise. From here on, every choice Ethan makes will blur the line between mission and desire.
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