Wild Hunger (The Phoenix Pack, #7)(99)
“Home. We’re going home.” Keeping her in his arms, Trick stood just as Josh approached them. “I heard what you did. I’m in your debt.”
“You’re my brother’s pack mate—there’s no debt.” Josh cast the wrecked cabin a look. “I think it’s safe to say that Cruz didn’t survive that. If he did, he’s all yours.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Trick buried his face in her neck as he slammed his cock deep and erupted inside his mate, filling her with everything he had. Even as that familiar peace stole over him, the panic didn’t entirely abate. It didn’t matter that she’d been fully healed for over twenty-four hours. Didn’t matter that he had her right there in their bed, all soft and warm and relaxed. Anxiety still had a firm grip on him.
Maybe she sensed that, because she wrapped him up tight, curling her arms around his neck and locking her legs around his hips. He kissed her neck, taking her scent inside him to soothe both him and his wolf.
“Let go of the guilt, Trick,” she whispered. “It’s senseless.”
No, it wasn’t. She’d been scared, and he hadn’t been there. Hadn’t helped. Hadn’t protected her. Hell, he’d barely gotten there in time to save her from being crushed by a fucking building.
She’d firmly assured him again and again that she wasn’t upset with him for not getting there sooner. In fact, she’d ordered him to “give yourself a fucking break.” She didn’t feel that he’d failed her or even that he could have been much help if he had gotten there earlier. Though intellectually he knew that it wasn’t his fault that she’d gone through that shit alone, he couldn’t help feeling like a bastard.
“You have to stop torturing yourself sometime, Trick.”
He softly snorted. “Says the person who won’t stop torturing herself for not bringing Cruz to justice twenty-four years ago.”
She sighed. “I just don’t get why I didn’t tell people what happened.”
Bracing himself on his elbows, he lifted his head and tucked her hair around her ear. “You were traumatized.”
“I just had to say his name. That’s all. Why didn’t I do that?”
“You are not allowed to feel guilty about this. If I told you that a three-year-old pup didn’t name her parents’ killer because she was shocked and terrified, would you blame her?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t get to blame you.” He kissed her softly, sipping from her mouth. “You need to forgive your three-year-old self, Frankie. You need to let it go. Okay?”
She exhaled heavily. “Okay.” She skimmed her fingers along his jaw. “I love you.”
“I know you do. And I love you.” He kissed her again. “And I love that our bond is now complete.”
“Me too.” Her cell phone rang, pulling them out of their own little world.
Trick grabbed her cell from the nightstand and glanced at the screen. “It’s your agent.”
Frankie took the phone and answered, “Hi, Abigail.”
“Hi, how are things?” she asked.
“Good, thanks. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m fine. I’m calling because I managed to find out who purchased the sculpture you told me about. The gallery kept the records.”
“It’s okay,” said Frankie. “I already know who it was.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Cruz Stewart, right?”
There was a pause. “Um . . . no. Sweetie, the name I have here is . . . Well, the buyer was Brad Newman. Isn’t that your uncle?”
Frankie’s stomach plummeted, and her smile faded. “Yes. Yes, it is. I have to go, Abigail.”
“You call me later.”
“I will.” Ending the call, she asked, “Did you hear that?”
Trick nodded. “Brad bought the sculpture that you found at Iris’s cabin.” His brow furrowed. “That makes no fucking sense, baby. Iris wouldn’t have accepted anything from him.”
“No, she wouldn’t have. Yet, it somehow ended up in her hands. I suppose she could have received it from an anonymous sender, but that’s the kind of thing you tell people, isn’t it? Clara said nobody seems to know where Iris got it.”
“She wouldn’t have taken anything from Brad.” Trick was sure of that much. “Maybe he asked someone to give it to her as a gift from them, but I can’t think who—” He frowned at the odd look on her face. “What?”
“I need to speak to Lydia. I have to ask her something.”
“So call her.”
Frankie did so, drumming her fingers on Trick’s back. Her stomach fluttered and her heart pounded, because she was quite sure that she already knew what Lydia’s answer would be.
“Hello,” Lydia softly greeted her.
“Lydia, hi. How are you feeling?”
A long sigh. “Better, thanks. But I’m not the one who was shot. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Listen, remember I went exploring in your mom’s attic? Well, there was a box of my mother’s things there, but it was empty. Someone had ripped open the tape and took whatever was in it.”