Page 64 of Rogue & Her Hunters
Damn, was I wrong.
Unexpectedly, during the ferocity of my bite, I realized that I was not only feeling my own primal possessiveness surging through me, but I was also sensingBird’sintense joy
I shivered, as my Omega’s happiness broke like the sun’s rays through my darkness.
Bird is inside me all the time.
He is my pack.
I can’t run from that.
Now, I can feel Bird’s fluttering heartbeat fast against my slow one. “How could it be anything but life-changing, whenyour light is inside me? How can I pretend to be some cool black cat anymore? I’ve got the spirit of a golden retriever bouncing around inside my head.”
Bird chuckles. “Well, you feel like a dagger — sharp and cold. Except, you’re not lodged in my ribs but hang over my heart. It’s like knowing you’re always there ready to slash the throats of anyone who hurts me. That should scare me, but it doesn’t.”
I puff out my chest in pride.
I feel like a dagger…?
I’ll take that.
“The emblem for the Adonis pack is a wild boar,” I say. “I imagine that Fiorella, our Chief Alpha feels like one to my dad. She enjoys brutal violence, goring those who are weaker than her. I’m more about cool calculation when I take down those who deserve it because theyoppressthe weak. A dagger, gun, or pheromones are merely weapons. I’m the one who is dangerous because I wield them for my vengeance.”
Bird rolls off me but grips my hand.
He turns his head, until our noses are touching. “Revenge again, huh? Just typical post bond pillow talk.”
Isn’t it?
I search my memory for the scenes in Mars’ romance books.
Does Bird want me to praise him? Promise tocherishandtreasurehim?
Should I talk about the four…no, six kids…that he’ll raise for me behind the white picket fence?
What is a picket fence, anyway?
I wrinkle my nose. “Do you want typical anything?”
To my relief, Bird’s eyes glitter with amusement. “Nope, I’ve tried that. Hated it. So, revenge talk it is, rather than whispered sweet nothings.”
“Is telling you that your cock is the prettiest I’ve ever ruined sweet enough, Little Bird?” I murmur.
Bird’s cheeks flush. “More like filthy, rather than sweet. But keep going.”
Instead, I sit up, glancing around at the nest that we also ruined over the last day of our heat and rut.
“Hey,” Bird protests, making grabby hands at me, “where are you going? Omega with needs here.”
“Haven’t I been meeting them for the last twenty-four hours? I’m doing housekeeping. You should be grateful. My version is usually paying the hotel bill.”
I drag the ruined blanket away. It’s been ripped to shreds by my rut.
I was enthusiastic. But then, so was Bird.
He’s a little wild thing.
At least I know that he can keep up with me.
