Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine

Chapter 17



Chapter 17

As the hours tick by, I pace the confines of my small apartment and worry that something happened to

Jay.

He doesn't have a mobile phone so I can’t even make a phone call to contact him.

Maybe he’s already moved on, and my whole silly vision of a sibling and having some semblance of a

family is going to fade away like all my other hopes.

Unable to stay inside anymore, I head out into the wide parking lot in front of the building. I keep

looking around to see some sign of him. But as night settles in and the temperature drops, my worries

only grow.

Jay is strong, so strong and powerful.

His wolf is massive to behold.

He could shift and run and be free.

He’s a grown man—and a devastatingly handsome one at that—he doesn’t need me.

It’s okay. You’re okay.

Tomorrow is a new day.

But the thought of facing tomorrow alone…it saddens me.

And not getting to say goodbye. Why would he leave so abruptly? As if I mean nothing to him—and

then it dawns on me.

I don’t mean anything to Jay.This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

We’re strangers to each other, and he would probably already consider his good deeds repaid.

My stomach drops at the thought.

I’ll miss his dark eyes and the way he smiles without really moving his face.

His quiet, steady presence is the first thing to bring me any sense of peace.

I go inside resigned to be grateful for what little time we had and to just focus forward instead of

latching onto something I can’t have.

I see the papers Lina delivered sitting on my kitchen table where I left them.

As I grab the small bag of garbage from its bin, I debate throwing my court documents away too.

But I know what Lina is thinking.

If I can appeal my case. If I prove my innocence… then the Council will have no choice but to rescind

their decision as well.

Maybe I can have my life again.

It’s not unheard of.

Rogues can be assimilated into their old packs or new ones and the way my wolf has been bound by

the silver, I have to believe that that can be undone too. Surely there is some cure.

I’d try to reach out to a pack doctor, but as I currently have no money or support, and physicians are

loyal to their own packs, which is problematic for me.

I grab the trash and leave the court documents.

I tie off the small bag as I walk to the row of cans at the curb. I drop my bag in and that’s when I see a

man walking in the distance down the street.

I know the cut of his shoulders, the swagger of his walk.

And a slow smile begins to spread across my face.

“Jay!”

He keeps his arms relaxed at his sides like at any moment he’s expecting to have to battle. There is a

rigidness to this man. Military maybe? Maybe training with his pack… He keeps moving toward me,

and although I’m fairly bouncing on my toes with excitement, he doesn’t pick up his pace.

“Why are you outside?” he asks.

Then his eyes flash for the briefest moment as he takes in our surroundings, searching for some

unnamed threat.

“You’re finally back!” I say instead.

“Sister. It is very cold out here.” He tugs the collar of my sweater closer. Your nose is red.”

“is that all you can say?”

He looks at me oddly, tilts his head. "Are you... waiting for me?"

I duck my head realizing how dumb that sounds.

I’ve know this man for less than three days.

He’s been gone a few hours.

His fingers gently caress my cheek. “You’re cold.”

“I’m glad you've come back safely," I tell him.

He rolls his eyes. I move back, thinking I’ve overstepped. But he catches my hand and then reaches for

the other one. He rubs my hands vigorously, and immediately I feel warmth spread from his skin to

mine.

“I had a job today,” he says.

“That’s great!”

“Should we go inside?”

I nod. "Jay, it's so good to have you home again.”

His lips curve. "I hope you won't regret saying that in the future.”

Why would I regret it? I pull him into the complex. From the corner of my eye I see a dark, expensive

car slowly rolling past.

A chill of foreboding trickles down my spine.

I urge Jay more quickly inside.


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