your pack are all mine. What do you think of that?”
“I think I’d like to see you fucking try,” I bit out, and slashed my nails at his face.
My nails connected with the soft flesh of his eye. I felt him jerk even as he howled with anger, and his hand pinned my neck to the tree, choking me. I scratched and clawed at his hand, desperately trying to get free as Roscoe reeled from my attack. A moment later, he recovered, squinting up at me from his good eye.
And then he clocked me straight in the face with his fist.
Pain exploded behind my cheekbone, and I grunted when he struck me. That only made me fight harder, though, because I knew that if I backed down now, it was going to be much, much worse for me in the end.
So I fought.
I kicked and struck, snarling my fury, even as Roscoe hit me back, trying to subdue me. The world became a ringing of blows around my face, and he tried to trap my arms even as I fought and flailed against him. I would not go down without a fight.
But the world was getting dark, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe, Roscoe’s big hand tightening on my throat. He was choking the life out of me, and I couldn’t seem to get any air into my lungs. Blackness swirled at the edges of my vision.
A blur erupted from the corner of my eye, and the next thing I knew, I dropped to the ground, my throat released. Mad snarls filled the air, and I coughed, looking up to see that familiar yellow-brown wolf attacking Roscoe. Until I saw him against Roscoe’s human form, I hadn’t realized how big Jackson was as a wolf. He was enormous, though, all bristling fur and white fang, and he’d taken almost no time to subdue Roscoe. Even now, the other man was holding an arm braced over his face and neck to protect it, while Jackson snarled and slashed at it, going for his throat.
“Back off, Jackson,” I told him in a raspy voice, rising from the ground. There was blood in the corner of my mouth and I wiped it, hating the taste. “Don’t kill him.”
“Listen to your bitch,” Roscoe called from over Jackson’s snarls. “Don’t kill me. It’s just pack disputes.”
Jackson backed off, returning to my side, still growling and feral, his hackles raised. He began to transform even as Roscoe picked himself up off the ground and began to run away, heading deep into the woods. I touched my face, assessing my wounds. My eye was swelling and my nose hurt like a bitch, but my teeth weren’t loose and it didn’t feel like anything was broken. It’d heal.
Most importantly, I was disturbed by what Roscoe had said.
I still wasn’t protected. Not really. We’d taken steps, but I had to accept Jackson in all ways before my pack would be truly safe. Shit.
Jackson stood at my side, in human form. His hand went to my shoulder protectively, and I looked at him.
His normally easygoing, handsome face was hard with anger, a snarl still curving his mouth. He looked furious, his eyes black. Blood tinged his mouth, and I watched his nostrils flare repeatedly as he attempted to get his anger under control.
We watched Roscoe lope away. “You’ll be sorry,” he muttered, staring back at us and then disappearing into the bushes.
Jackson could have gone after him, but Roscoe had lost a challenge. When you lost a challenge, you let the opponent limp away to lick their wounds. You didn’t attack him again.
And I was here, wounded. The alpha male would never leave the alpha female injured and unprotected.
Jackson’s hand flexed on my shoulder, and then he turned to me, his beautiful mouth hard. His gaze moved over my face, and his fingers gently brushed my chin. “You okay?”
I nodded. “He caught me in a rope trap.”
He examined my wounds, his fingers brushing over them as if he needed to assess them for himself. I could tell he was still pissed. Fury was locked in every muscle of his body. No sign of easygoing alpha here. This Jackson was cold and furious.
“You got here just in time,” I told him softly. “Another moment and I probably would have lost consciousness.” My hand went to my bruised throat. “And Roscoe’s not the type to ease up just because the girl’s unconscious.”
That only made Jackson more angry, and he stared back at the woods where Roscoe had left. I could tell it was killing him not to go after him, but that wasn’t the wolf way. He finally turned back to me. “You sure you’re okay?”
What, did he expect tears? “No, I want to punch something. It’ll be you if you keep asking me if I’m okay.”
A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth and he pulled me close, and pressed a kiss to my temple. “Ah, the female alpha.”
I didn’t know if that was admiration or irritation. But I allowed him to hug me close and kiss my forehead, and I let him keep his arm around me as we walked through the woods.
The pack caught up with us as we walked back, and I heard Trina’s worried whining at the sight of my bruises.
“I’m fine,” I told them. “Just had a run in with Roscoe. Jackson chased him off.”
Spence came up and licked my hand, seeking reassurance, while Trina whined and moved closer to Jackson. Even Len loped a bit closer.
“We’re all fine,” I told them again, my voice reassuring. “It’s handled. Jackson took care of it. Roscoe was mad that he was thwarted and he caught me unawares. It won’t happen again. No need to be upset.”
Easy for me to say. I was serene on the outside, but there was a hard pit of anger in my stomach. It wasn’t just anger at Roscoe, either. It was anger at myself, and at Jackson.
If sleeping with Jackson would keep my pack safe, then I needed to do it, and he needed to push me toward it, damn it. No more of this easygoing shit.
Chapter Nine
Jackson was getting good at sensing my moods. By the time we headed up to our shared room (after soothing the rest of the pack again), I was bitterly angry and feeling helpless.
As soon as the door was shut behind us, though, Jackson took one look at my face and pointed me to the bed. “Sit there.”
I thumped to it, seething at my inability to resist his command and my stupid desire to please him that came with talking to an alpha. “Why?”
He went to the bathroom and ran the water, then returned to my side with a wet towel. Jackson sat next to me and his fingers brushed under my chin, tilting my head so he could examine my wounds. “So I can help you clean up.”
I sat there, stewing, while he patted at my bruises and cuts. My one eye was swollen, but I imagined it’d go down by tomorrow. Werewolves healed fast. I’d taken quite a beating, but within a few days I’d be good as new again.
“You wanna tell me why you’re mad?” Jackson asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be mad? That asshole was on my property.” My fists clenched at the memory of Roscoe’s hard face. His hand slapping my ass. The indignity of it all.
“You have every right to be mad about that,” he said, and dabbed at a scratch on my cheek. “I meant why are you mad at me?”
I gave him a narrowed look. “I’m not mad.”
“You are,” he said, putting down the cloth. “You’re vibrating with it. I’ve done something that made you angry. Might as well tell me what it is and how it relates to this Roscoe stuff.”
I swallowed hard. Tried to compose myself. Failed. “You’re not pushing me.”
