“That was you getting a bit territorial,” he tells me evenly, not an ounce of judgment in either his tone or face. In fact, when I glance up, there’s a smug tilt to his lips and a glimmer of triumph in his eyes.
“Territorial?” I scoff. “You’re really going with territorial to describe the complete batshit crazy that just went down?”
Ruger’s smug tilt turns into a full-blown smile, and he reaches up to turn off the glacial downpour. A heavy silence settles between us as the sound of rushing water disappears.
“Fine, if territorial doesn’t satisfy, how do you feel about the term claiming rage? Because that’s what people around here call it.”
Disquiet starts to flap around in my chest like little sparrows looking for a place to land.
I clear my throat, stalling so I can think and regroup. “Rage feels accurate…” I concede, “but I’m not so sure about the claiming part. I’m not a possessive psycho.”
Or at least I wasn’t before.
Dropping my gaze from Ruger’s, I watch beads of water fall from my leggings to crash against the shower floor like it’s the most profound thing I’ve ever seen. I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to meet them when his revelation and my denial hang heavy in the air.
“Not so sure about the claiming part?” he questions, his tone slipping from casual to something far more sensual with each syllable. “Then why do you smell like my brothers and orgasms?”
Startled—and slightly mortified—my wide-eyed stare crashes into Ruger’s confident, assessing gaze. A warm flush works its way up my neck, and I struggle not to open and close my mouth like some hooked trout as I flounder for a response. I smell myself, questioning how he’s picking up any of this after I showered.
“The living room reeks of what you three were up to,” he tells me with a wicked glint in his green eyes. “Smells fucking delicious.”
“There was no claiming involved, just…playing,” I defend and then try not to cringe at how ridiculous I sound.
Ruger reaches up and brushes a wet strand of hair from my face. He traces my cheek and then the line of my jaw with the tips of his tattooed fingers.
“Think what you want, Noah, but your reaction in the room just now has everything to do with claiming and not an ounce to do with playing. Or are we going to pretend that you didn’t snarl words like mine and mindspeak mate?”
I want to deny it. I really want to, but I’m not a liar, so I say nothing.
Ruger chuckles, enjoying my chagrin a little too much.
Ass.
A loud splat next to me makes me abandon my inner turmoil, and I look up to find Ruger is missing his shirt.
His body is as insane as I feel right now. Seriously, who looks like that?
His chest is covered in a black and gray tattoo of a snarling wolf. Its fangs are biting down onto a bright red rose. The rest of his chest is covered with silhouettes of black trees and winding filigree. I’ve seen him without a shirt before, but I was too busy freaking the fuck out to really appreciate the caliber of art inked all over his massive body.
I barely stop myself from reaching out to trace it, remembering that I’m supposed to be finding the holes in his claiming accusation. It’s too soon. All of this just came out of nowhere. I have no idea what I’m doing on my best day, and now I’m just supposed to figure it out with four guys?
Except, none of my reasons feels as big as they once did.
So why am I really fighting this?
Ruger’s right. This isn’t about playing anymore.
His hand appears in front of my face, and I look up to see he’s offering it to me. I take it, letting him pull me up. We stand nearly touching, my face close to his chest, water dripping from our clothes and our limbs, eyes locked.
We’re on the edge of something—I can feel it skitter across my senses—but I don’t know which of us will be brave enough to leap first.
With a sigh that sounds almost like assent, I guide my hands to each side of his waist and lean my head against his hard chest.
I leap—even though I’m terrified.
Ruger runs a comforting hand over my hair and holds me against him, letting me simmer in his serenity.
“I don’t know if I’m losing myself or finally finding what’s always been missing,” I confess quietly.
His lips softly brush the top of my head, and I close my eyes and revel in the fluttering inside my stomach. My thumbs trace the outline of his ribs, and his breathing grows more shallow.
“How is it possible to feel so lost and so anchored at the same time?”
Ruger rests his warm cheek on my wet hair.
“I want to give you an answer that explains everything,” he tells me, his rich tone dripping over me like summer rain. “I want to tell you something that makes you feel better. But I’m not good at the flowery shit. You want Perth or Ellery for that,” he informs me, and I smile at his honesty. “I can’t pretend that I understand everything you’re going through, but I can tell you what I know.”
He lifts his hands to my face, his fingers threading through my hair as he tilts my head back until I’m staring up at him. His green eyes flit back and forth between mine, like he’s searching for something. I don’t know what he finds in my stare, but it makes his gaze settle and fill with a warm certainty.
“You’re mine, Noah. And whether you’re ready to see it or not, you’re Ellery’s. You’re Gannon’s. And you’re Perth’s.”
His declaration wraps around me like a warm hug. But I’m at a loss for words because I am ready to see it, even if I don’t know how to say that to him.
Ruger’s calm expression tells me he’s not expecting me to magically dig up the perfect words. Instead, he tugs at the bottom of my sopping hoodie, pulling it and my tank top over my head. It plops down on the black tile floor of the shower, and then he drops to his knees and proceeds to pull my socks off one by one. Looking up at me, his green eyes are alight with assurance and something deeper that calls to me on a primal level.
“That pull you experienced tonight. That undeniable need and rage that shot through you when you saw a threat to your claim? I’ve felt that from the moment you woke up and ran from us,” he confesses. “I’ve been crippled by worry that I’m going to lose you somehow. But I’m going to stop doing that now. You’re not fragile. You’re strong. This world isn’t going to break you. And I’m going to show you all the ways you fit right here,” he tells me, pressing a fist to his heart.
My entire body feels like it’s been dipped in warm marshmallow fluff. Ruger’s words stick to me in a way I know is going to change everything. With deft fingers, he pulls my wet leggings down my thighs, past my calves, and off my feet.
His large palms skim up my legs, reaching for my sides, his touch feather soft as he stands and moves closer. My breath hitches when he unexpectedly lifts a hand and wraps it around the front of my throat, gently squeezing. The move’s not threatening or painful; it’s almost like he’s showing me I’ve got you, you’re in capable hands.
The wolf in me fucking loves it.
He steps into my space, backing me up until I’m pinned against the cold tile of the shower wall. His towering, muscular body presses against mine as he traces his nose over the apple of my cheek, slowly breathing me in, scenting me.