For a brief, hopeful second, he’d hoped that Blayne hadn’t noticed. But then her entire body tensed and she said, “What the hell did you just do?”

CHAPTER 27

Ezra Thorpe opened his front door. It wasn’t even five yet, but he hadn’t slept since the day Niles Van Holtz had shown up at his house.

And here he was again.

“Well?”

“We need to get your daughter out of Ursus County. We need to get her out now.”

Ezra had already heard from his buddies and connections that the Group had located and raided the building that housed the people who’d tried to take Blayne. He’d also heard that the hybrids who’d recently been stored in the basement, prepped for transport, had been released. But the hybrids who’d already been through a few fights, their moneymakers awaiting transport to a new location, had been too far gone. They’d been put down at the location. Harsh but necessary.

Yet what did any of that have to do with Blayne or Ursus County?

“Why?”

The wolf scratched his head, glanced up, then finally admitted, “Uh . . . ’cause that’s where they’ve been taking the hybrids to get them ready to fight. Breaking them in, I guess. Anyway, we need to figure out what we’re going to do next and, to be honest, we could use your skills.”

Ezra let out a sigh and reached for his coat from the stand. Only Blayne, he thought as he followed Niles Van Holtz to his limo.

Bo returned with a washcloth and some antibiotic. He placed everything on the bed and sat down across from her. Instead of reaching over to her to care for the wounds, he gripped her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap patiently waiting until her legs wrapped around his hips.

She stared off over his shoulder and bit the inside of her lip when she felt the first swipe of the cleaning cloth against her brand-new bite marks.

“Blayne?”

“Uh-huh?”

“You’re not talking to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you mad?”

“Uh-uh.”

“But you’re not talking to me?”

“Uh-uh.”

“I need you to talk to me, Blayne.”

She shook her head. Not a good idea. Not a good idea.

“I just marked you, Blayne. I won’t lie and say I had it planned out, but I can’t say that I mind, either. The way I feel about you . . . making you mine just feels right. But I need you to tell me how you feel. I need you to say something. Anything. Please.”

Well, if he wanted her to say something . . . “I’m never going to be on time, I’m either going to be twenty minutes late to two hours early, and don’t think I can function on that list thing you do, I mean I like lists as much as the next person and they can be quite helpful but I will not live under your Stalin-like schedules, nor will I feel bad if I put something in what I am sure is your frighteningly pristine homeout of place—how can anyone relax in that kind of situation? And I don’t want to live in fear of you getting a bug up your ass and throwing out what you’ve affectionately referred to as my ‘crap,’ and speaking of which, I love the watch, I really do, but at some point I will want to take it off, maybe wear some cheap piece of crap I get for a deal on the street and I don’t want you freaking out every time I do, I can’t constantly be worrying about time and to be quite blunt . . . I want children, lots and lots of children and you don’t even like kids, not only that—”

Bo placed his hand over her mouth. “Brakes. Train.”

She glared at him over his fingers.

“To make this easier for me, I’ll address each of your points. In order.”

In order?

“Number one, you may always be late, but I’ll always be on time. And yes, I will bug you if you’re running late and it’s holding me back as well, but it’s not something I’ll get hysterical over because I understand that’s you and you won’t get hysterical when you realize that I give you too-early meeting times since I already know you’ll be two hours late.” Wait. What? “Second, I don’t insist anyone keeps or maintains a schedule but me. All I do ask is that you respect the schedule I do have because right now, at this point in my life, it’s about hockey and my commitment to the team I’m on. Third, stop comparing my time management skills to dictators. Fourth, I won’t throw your stuff out unless it’s actually in the trash, but if I start seeing extreme hoarder tendencies, you’re going to therapy. Fifth, I don’t care if you wear cheap, pretty crap as long as you don’t use that cheap crap as an excuse for why you’re late. You can’t have it both ways. It’s not fair. And sixth, I don’t hate children, but I’m positive that I’ll always consider my kids better than anyone else’s because they’re mine, which will automatically make them amazing.” He paused, nodded his head, and said, “I think I hit all your concerns.”

“Every one,” she agreed.

“Yeah.”

“You actually listened to me, and took me seriously.”

“Of course.”

Blayne stormed off the bed. “And how, exactly, am I supposed to deal with that?”

Bo leaned back on the bed, his palms flat, his arms keeping him propped up. “At this point . . . nothing I say will make you happy, will it?”

“Probably not!”

She would always make him crazy, wouldn’t she? Whether they were in bed or out of it, she would always make him feel a little off kilter. A little . . . baffled. He wasn’t sure that was a good thing, but he knew he’d never be bored. He’d never wander away from her. The thought of what she’d do while he was gone was simply too terrifying.