Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine

Chapter 11

GRACE

“Why do you think we should do this,Grace?”

I’m not sure what unnerves me more. Jay’s question or the way he holds my hand.

“Because…” I struggle to find my words. As an attorney, I used to think out every argument and

calculate conversations to be convincing and compelling. But I am not looking to sell him on something Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

or to try and win him over.

“Jay, we are the same kind of people,” I say. “We've both been abandoned by our packs—and for

wolves, there is no greater tragedy.” I stop myself. Well, actually there is. Having your wolf torn from

your soul. Yeah, that is definitely worse.

“Look,” I say, “We’re exiled. Rogues. Alone. Scraping out a living on the bottom-most rung of society.

No one will want people like us, and no one will care about us, but at least we can keep each other

warm—”

“You want to keep me warm?” He smirks.

I blush and swat him with my napkin.

He squeezes my hand then lets it go.

Those odd little sparks I felt along my skin, they evaporate.

In our true forms, we’d run in a pack and then rest, lying close to each other. And, yes, wolves did that

sort of thing to stay warm.

“I can care about you, and you can also care about me, right?"

"Is that so?” he asks.

There’s something in his eyes. A flash of a darkness that fills me with unease. I feel my smile wobble.

Maybe this is a really stupid idea.

Maybe he doesn’t want to take a chance again.

Maybe he’s right, and it’s easier to be alone.

“It seems we really are the same kind of people..." he mutters cryptically, and I want to ask but

something tells me he won’t say what he means.

His gaze is like that of a hunter watching a small animal fall into his trap.

"Sister." He nods as if coming to some agreement. Then he holds out his hand.

I shake it.

* * * * * * * * * *

JASON

In the blink of an eye, her smile turns as bright as the starry sky.

Really, is this woman so starved for affection?

After dinner, Grace suggests that we go shopping. So I leave with her for the night market and watch

bemusedly as she picks out assorted articles of clothes for me.

Like I’m some child.

Maybe to her, I am.

A brother in need of saving.

I frown.

My hands flex and I feel the power of my wolf—the power of my collective pack—pulse through my

fingertips.

Perhaps the days really are becoming too boring for me. With the wave of my hand, I can have anyone

or anything I want, so why is this …game becoming so interesting to me?

Regardless, I indulge her. Letting Grace excitedly pull me from one stall to another, where she makes

me hold up cheap shirts and secondhand jeans.

“Oh! Look at those!” she hurries off toward something else, and I follow behind her like a puppy.

Now there’s a thought, maybe I should just get her a dog and call it a day.

It isn’t my place to ease her loneliness.

And considering who she is… what she’s done…

The irony is like wolfsbane. Burning a hole in my conscience until there’s nothing left.

A handful of my normal garments are worth more than the entirety of what’s in these stalls and the

surrounding stores, but I see the way her eyes widen as the cash register tallies my clothes. She nods

resolutely and pays, and it leaves me feeling…something I can’t describe, to see her sacrifice her hard-

earned money to buy some spare clothes for me.

“Here,” she says. “Put this on.”

The cotton jacket is thick, but not particularly attractive.

"Is it warmer now?” she asks.

“Yes," I answer indifferently.

I'm a fucking wolf. And an Alpha at that.

I’m impervious to the cold.

I lower my gaze to look at her. She’s almost a head shorter than me. "Actually, you don't need to buy

these clothes for me. I am used to the cold. I'd be fine even if I only wear my previous clothes."

"It doesn't mean that you should be cold just because you're used to it," she says. "I don't have much

money and I can't buy a lot of clothes for you, but I can at least let you wear something warmer."

"Why are you so nice to me?"

"Because I am your sister." She smiles and grabs my hand to give it a quick squeeze.

I don’t particularly like physical contact with other people. But Grace’s touch doesn’t bother me as

much. I’m not a fan of the way my wolf is so sensitive to the sounds and smells of other people either.

It’s like there are too many details for me to parcel at once which is why I tend to avoid crowded spaces

or large pack events.

As an Alpha I endure my share of them.

Maybe that’s what this is…a sort of sensory relaxation. Simple space, simple foods and clothes. Simple

girl.

“You’re hands are cold,” I tell her. “I think you need the warmer clothes.”

“It’s true,” she laughs. “All those years I took Ava for granted.”

Her wolf, she means.

I grunt.

“She’s gone,” she says. Then she dips her cold face to my hand. “And I still have my wolf’s cold nose.”

She laughs and it brightens everything.

Grace isn’t beautiful, no.

But in this moment, she’s beautiful to me.