Twice Shy

“What the hell happened to you?”

She almost dropped her drink. Heart pounding, she set the glass on the counter and turned slowly. She should have known Jonas wouldn't leave when she hadn't answered the door. His gaze moved over her possessively, and she was suddenly aware she was standing there in only a towel. She wasn't sure if it was mortification or lust that sent a heated flush up her throat to her face. Clothes. She needed clothes ASAP. Before she could sidle past him, however, Mick nudged Jonas aside. He walked right up to her and dropped to one knee, his hands gentle as he examined her legs.

“What did you do, sugar?”

It took a moment to find her voice. His touch was professional, but her body didn't care, and she couldn't get the image of him and Jonas having sex out of her head. He looked up with a sexy grin, and she groaned. He was a werewolf. Of course he could smell her arousal. Standing, he took her hand, then tugged her to the table. He lifted her to sit on it, went back to the cabinet, and returned with a bottle of peroxide and a bag of cotton balls.

He pulled a chair to face her, tugged her feet to rest on the edge and pinned them with his thighs. He wet one of the cotton balls, then reached for her leg.

Jerking away was reflexive, and she didn't stop until his low growl filled the room.

“I already cleaned it,” she whispered.

“With what?”

“Soap and water.”

“Think of this as added precaution.” His fingers circled her ankle gently, but she knew there was no way he'd let her go. Resigned, she sighed and repressed a flinch when he touched the cotton ball to one of the smaller scrapes.

“Harper.” She shivered at Jonas's voice. She could hear the wolf in it, but it was sexy rather than frightening. He moved to stand behind Mick and waited until she looked up to meet his gaze. “What happened?”

“I cut through the woods. And found a briar patch.” He shook his head. “You can't be left unsupervised at all can you?” She bristled. “I'm fine. I can take care of myself.” But she didn't try to pull free of Mick's gentle healer's grasp.

Jonas crossed his arms over his chest, and his face seemed set in stone.

Privately, she called it his stern face. He wouldn't use it on her nearly so much if he knew how much this hard, unforgiving side of him turned her on.

“Is that right? You get yourself hurt walking home. Spy on people in the woods.” Oh gods, he had to bring that up? Her face was so hot she knew it'd be scarlet. “And you get yourself engaged to some wizard when you have two mates already.”

“I am not engaged to anyone. My father came up with that plan all on his own.”

Jonas, arrogant as ever, cocked one eyebrow. “Is that right?” She nodded. She couldn't find the voice to answer when he looked at her with that avaricious heat in his eyes.

“Can't really blame her for that anyway,” Mick said calmly. She jumped when the peroxide contacted the deepest cut and the scrape up the outside of her calf.

“She didn't know she belonged to us then.”

Was it interest or terror that filled her at the possessiveness in their voices?

Terror, definitely. She was in no way prepared to handle one of them, much less two. Tempted maybe, but not prepared. It was just good fantasy material. Fine.

Great fantasy material. Scary and intoxicating at the same time, but impossible.

Mick tossed the used cotton balls to the trash can in the corner and then picked up the antibiotic cream. She trembled under his soft touch as he smeared it on each scrape, paying particular attention to the long, ugly one.

When he was finished, he held both her calves in a light grip. “Why are you so afraid, sugar?”

The air seemed to chill. The question was gently asked, but the demand for information was in his eyes.

“Who says I am?”

Jonas's voice was harsh. “We can scent it. It's sharp and tangy, and I like it a little too much. Answer the damned question, Harper.” Oh, that pissed her off. He acted like witch was synonymous with leper, in her case at least, and now he wanted… What? He'd used the word mate with her father, had insisted here in her kitchen she belonged to him. That shoved her anger into fury. She'd fled the only home she'd ever known because she refused to be owned by any man. Not her father or some man he chose for her, and sure as hell not a werewolf who held her in nothing but contempt.

“Get over yourself, Jonas,” she snapped. “I don't owe you any explanations.” For a moment surprise crossed his face, and he arched that damned eyebrow again. “Got a backbone after all.”

She finally succeeded in jerking free of Mick's grip and hopped off the table, clinging to the towel so she didn't give anyone a show. She nodded at Mick, trying to completely ignore Jonas in the process.

“Thank you for helping with the scratches. Y'all can show yourselves out.” She didn't quite run from the room, but she didn't give either of them a chance to stop her either. In her bedroom, she slammed the door behind her and leaned back against it. It was a long time before her heart slowed to normal, before she quit trembling. She dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, wiping damp palms against her jean-clad legs while straining to hear sounds in the house.

Had they left? She hadn't heard any doors shut, but she didn't hear any movement or voices either. Her stomach rumbled, and she glared at the door. Was she really reduced to hiding in her room in her own damned house? No way. She jerked the door open and stomped down the hall.

Chapter Five

“Good job, man.”

Jonas stiffened but didn't respond to Mick. He walked to the fridge and opened both doors. There wasn't much. TV dinners, salad makings. Certainly not anything that appealed to two werewolves.