His Trouble Maker

Chapter 113

JESSICA

Grayson is wrong.

I shift on the mattress, sheets catching against my thigh, breath snagging in my throat.

He’s sleeping beside me like he always does. Possessive even in sleep. His hand curls heavy over my waist, rough palm pressing heat into my skin like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he blinks.

The thing is – I can’t fucking sleep.

It’s been three sunrises since I came back to him. Three dawns where my wolf paces restless under my ribs, claws scraping bone every time I close my

eyes.

Outside the walls, the world keeps moving. Riot’s still breathing. And I don’t know what the fuck they’re planning because they won’t tell me.

They told me not to ask. Told me to rest. But how can I do that when everytime I close my eyes I see Riot’s face? He’s trying to convince me to come back. He’s telling me it’s not over. And while Grayson told me it’s over I felt like it’s not really over.

He’s still here, somewhere.

Grayson’s breath drags rough beside me, chest rising heavy, lashes twitching like even asleep he’s fighting something ugly.

My heart twists, sharp and mean. I could stay. I could bury my face in his throat, let his scent drown it out for a while.

But that wouldn’t stop the nightmares.

Careful – slow, so I don’t wake him – 1 pry his arm from my waist. His fingers twitch in his sleep, wolf stubborn even unconscious.

I slip free – slow, breath caught in my chest – and just my fucking luck, there he is.

Theo.

Propped against the porch rail, cigarette burning low between his fingers, smoke curling around his jaw. Eyes catch on me the second I step out – dragging over bare legs, oversized shirt clinging to sweat–damp skin, hair a mess around my face.

half starving. Like he can’t decide if he wants to

my ribs, ears back, not sure

the jagged pieces he hides behind that grin. I also know what Pierce told

was choking on Riot’s fucking bond, Theo nearly tore his own throat out trying

forgive myself. Doesn’t mean I forget what he’s

on the boards, night air licking

when he talks. “Couldn’t sleep, princess?” His voice is lower than usual. “Want to smoke again?”

His eyes flick past me, then back, sharp, catching every twitch in my shoulders. “Guess none of us sleep easy anymore,”

raw, like he’s been punching something that didn’t punch back. My wolf twitches at that. I want to ask. Instead, I move closer, boards creaking under my heel, smell of cigarette smoke and pine sap crawling

1/3

Chapter 113

Theo drawls, head tilting, smoke trailing from his lips. “Or just let him wake up and tear

snort–dry, humorless- arms crossing under my chest. “Let him sleep,” I mutter, Voice comes out softer than I want. “He fucking needs

back, smoke curling around

heard you two last

“Nosy princess.”

dropping to the boards between

me, slow, sharp, like he’s measuring what I heard, what I think I know. His jaw

heavy. “You gonna ask, or you gonna stand there

Grayson,” I say, voice coming out flatter than I feel. “Saying

his lips. “Course he fucking doesn’t,” he mutters, like it’s the simplest thing in the

chest twists

trailing from his mouth into

scratches at my

“That’s not true-”

cuts me off, voice dropping to something harsher, closer to a growl. “He’d burn the whole fucking pack to

“Grayson loves the pack-”

mine, dark and sharp and fucking

It feels wrong.

of

everything should come down to me – wrong that the others

“And what about me?”