Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine

Chapter 10

JASON

I stand to the side and watch Grace perform some mini prayer ceremony.

It seems more human, the way she acts.

Souls can cross time and we’re never really disconnected from our packmates. Heck, I can project my

thoughts to any one of them if I so choose. But she has no wolf now, and no pack, so maybe that

absence has her so sad.

But it seems deeper than that.

This woman looks…broken.

Her almost-smile is dejected. Her almond-shaped eyes are misty. The light of the candle and the light

of the lamp in the corner of the room mix together and cause shadows to dance across her face.

She has arched eyebrows, a small nose, and pink lips. She’s not at all bad-looking, but I’ve seen

countless women more attractive than Grace.

Back then, Jennifer Atkinson, my fiancée, had been a rare beauty. Grace's looks are only ordinary in

comparison.

I understand her need to say some kind words and to acknowledge her Grandpa’s passing, and her

mom’s, but fresh out of prison, declared a rogue, wolf-less and working in a sanitation center, to say

she’s ‘doing well’ …is one hell of a stretch.

"Also, grandpa, there’s another person here who's staying with me," she says softly.

I tense.

She turns her head and glances at me. Under the light of the candle, she seems to glow from within.

She smiles like my presence is enough to bring her joy. After a moment, she turns to look at the man in

the photo again. "So, I am doing really good, Grandpa. You can rest in peace."

After saying this, she respectfully bows to the photo. She closes her eyes and though her lips move,

whatever words she says are too soft even for my wolf hearing.

It’s several minutes before she nods and opens her eyes. “Alright, I'll clean up and make some soup.

Let's have dinner together.”

I move until I’m directly in front of her. I’m thinking of last night and how she looked this morning when

she left. I touch her face. “This is new…”

She covers the bruise with her hand and looks everywhere but at me. “I, uh, don’t want to talk about it.”

I grunt.

I don’t like her answer. And sure as hell, I’m not used to being shut out by people or told no. When I ask

something, people answer me.

She holds out her arm. “Sit. Relax.”

I do only because I’m…unsettled.

I sit on one of the rickety chairs and watch her.

She sets out plates and bowls. Silverware. She pours me a glass of water from the sink before rinsing

off some vegetables and setting a pot on the stove to simmer.

Her movements match her name—graceful. And while she doesn’t hum and there’s no sound in the

room, there is a rhythm to her motions as if she moves to some languid melody.

I wonder at her wolf.

Would her other side be as lithe or more bold?

The smells from the kitchen gradually take shape. Onions and root vegetables, simmering meat and

herbs. The yeast from the buns I bought.

I’ve attended banquets for ruling Alphas that smelled less delicious.

And though the spread Grace places on the table is simple—soup, some egg frittata she’d mixed with

leftovers from the refrigerator, a few simple baked rolls—my stomach rumbles.

She smiles.

Then she ladles more soup into my bowl.

“Thank you so much for the bread, Jay.” She breaks a piece off and chews appreciatively.

Seriously? She’s smiling like I handed her the moon.

It makes me feel …I’m not quite sure what it is, but it isn’t quite comfortable.

She takes another bite of bread and thanks him again.

My lips twitch. I’m not sure why she’s thanking me. It was her money.

I’m the guest here. I should be the one thanking her, if anything.

We both eat quietly, and the quiet is calming. When in the giant hall that my pack inhabits, the noise is

at times overwhelming. I’d never admit that, but it is true.

“Jay, what kind of work did you do in the past?"

I anticipated that she’d have questions, and I rehearsed answers in my head before coming back to

Grace’s place.

”I did all sorts of work,” I say vaguely. “If there was work to do, then I would do it. If there wasn't, then I

would just find a place to rest.”

Her brows draw together. ”How old are you?" she asks.

"Twenty-eight," I reply.

"Which month are you born in?"

"November."

"It's July for me.” Grace dabs at her mouth with her napkin. "You don't have any family, and neither do I.

Why don't you treat me as your sister from now on? I will also regard you as my brother."

"Sister?" I smile lightly.

If she knew who I am, would she dare to say such a thing?

However, it is exactly because she doesn't know that makes this situation so interesting to me.

"Can't you?" Her eyes darken. NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

“You look sad,” I remark. And it’s likely my fault for not answering her quickly enough. “This was your

idea, adopting me.”

Her lips twitch.

I’m the most powerful Alpha on this entire coast.

I command an army some three-thousand strong. Though other packs and Alphas inhabit this region,

they all swear fealty to me.

I don’t worry about their ‘feelings’ and yet…what?

This girl frowns and I’m bantering with her to raise her spirits again?

She inclines her head to the candle still burning on the countertop in memory of her grandfather and

mother. “When my mother passed away,” she says, “I was only three. I don't have many memories of

her to be honest, but I know she loved me.”

I’d have to think very hard to recall my life at that age. And for a child grieving, the trauma would

probably overshadow the good memories.

“How did she die?”

“Miscarriage. The baby was six months along.” She glances back at me. “My brother. But he only lived

for ten minutes after entering this world. It would’ve been so wonderful, I think. Having him with me.” A

tear slips down her cheek. “I like to think that they’re together.”

He grunts. So… a brother.

"Are you sure you want to be my sister?" I ask suddenly. I capture her hand and she sucks in a startled

breath…