Blood Rights [Wicked River 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read Online Free Page B

toenails. Her muscles ached, her eyes burned, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and forget everything. Other than her responsibility to the pack, she had questions that needed answers, and only Brock could give them to her.
    Shutting off the faucet, she wrung the excess water from her hair and stepped out of the shower. There had been a time when she’d have foregone a towel and paraded wet and naked into the living room just to tease her mate.
    Those times were long past, though. So, she dried quickly before hurrying to her bedroom to find something suitable to wear—nothing that would indicate she was trying to impress him, but nothing that made her look like a miserable old maid.
    Pulling on a pair of gray sleep shorts, she reached into the closet for her favorite sweatshirt but froze once she had it in her hands. The once-midnight-blue cotton was dull and faded from heavy wear and numerous washings. The hem was frayed, and the lettering on the front cracked in several places.
    She fingered the small hole on the right sleeve, remembering how Brock had cussed a blue streak when he’d ripped it on a tree branch in the forest. His dark hair had been longer then, with little curls at the ends she’d love to run her fingers through. When she’d grabbed a handful of those silky locks and pulled him into a kiss, he’d forgotten all about being mad at the offending tree.
    Stomping across the room, she shoved the sweatshirt into the trash can beside her bed and kicked the receptacle for good measure. Then she pulled a long-sleeved, black T-shirt from her dresser, tugged it on over her head, and took a deep breath before exiting the room.
    “I thought you might have drowned in there,” Koba teased her when she walked into the kitchen to find them both sitting at the small, circular table. “Are you hungry?”
    “Starving.”
    Brock rose from his chair and offered her a tight smile. “Do you still like biscuits and gravy?”
    “Why?”
    His head tilted to the side, and he gave her a look full of confusion. “I was going to make breakfast. Do you want something else?”
    “I don’t think that’s what she meant.” Koba stood as well and rounded the table, taking Moira by the shoulders and steering her into a chair. “Don’t move.”
    No problem there. Though Koba’s touch sent a tiny current of electricity through her body, it was faint and fleeting, and she could barely hold her eyes open. Crossing her arms on the table to form a pillow, she laid her head down and stifled a yawn. They had things to discuss, but she just needed to rest her eyes for a few minutes.
     
    * * * *
     
    God save him from pig-headed fools.
    As Brock went about preparing breakfast, Koba lifted Moira into his arms and carried her to the sofa in the living room. She groaned quietly when he eased her to the cushions, rolling to her side and curling her knees up toward her chest. Lifting a small fleece blanket from the recliner, Koba covered her and brushed the golden-blonde hair back from her face.
    His lips tingled with the urge to place even a chaste kiss against her temple, but he resisted. It wouldn’t be right, even that barest of touches, without her permission. Moira had clearly stated that she didn’t trust him, and whether it was the anger speaking or something else, he’d respect that.
    “She asleep?” Brock asked when Koba wandered back into the kitchen.
    “Down for the count.”
    “Don’t bet on that.” Brock chuckled as he whisked the gravy. “She’s a damn mule.”
    “Hmm, reminds me of someone else I know.” The two were so much alike it was amazing to him that they weren’t related. It did explain why they couldn’t seem to be within ten feet of each other without the claws coming out, though.
    Turning the burner off and setting the pot of gravy to the side, Brock turned and looked Koba up and down with a strange expression on his face. “Those are my clothes.”
    “Would you like them back?”