Free Treeland Pack Tales 3: A Trace of Ivy by Evanne Lorraine Page B

maybe one a year. Lone rogues happen way too often. Tracking them,
eliminating them, is a lot of what I do.”
    “You and the other enforcers?”
    “Yeah.”
    “How many enforcers are there?”
    “The Treeland pack has five, including me.”
    Her smooth brow pleated in a pretty frown. “There are eight
monsters in the pack you’re hunting now.”
    Chet would’ve grinned at her obvious concern if he hadn’t
been seething over the reminder she’s spent weeks with the rogues. He tried for
confident and casual; instead he practically snarled. “Daniel fights with us,
and we’re tough.”
    She chafed her arms, plainly not convinced but at least not
cowering in the corner. “So are the monsters.”
    He moderated his tone and managed to keep it almost
reasonable. “I’ve been doing this a long time. We’re saner, smarter, and
tougher. We always win.”
    Not always fast enough to prevent a lot of pain. But she
didn’t need more worries. Her expressive face already held too much doubt.
“Have I ever lied to you?”
    She shook her head.
    “Then trust me on this. We will find them, and we will win.”
    Ivy’s chin slowly dipped. Not exactly rah, rah, go, Chet go,
but an affirmative.
    He took what she was willing to offer. He was still a long
way from winning her complete trust. Lucky for him, he loved a challenge. He
glanced at the mantel clock. “Are you sleepy?”
    “No.” She stifled a yawn and sat straighter.
    “Good, I’m ready for dessert. Want some?”
    She patted her flat stomach. “Maybe.”
    “Deep dish apple pie—my own recipe.”
    “A small slice.” She stood, holding her thumb and index
finger a scant inch apart. “You like to cook.”
    “I do. It relaxes me.” He plated two healthy slices.
    “Is that unusual for your kind?”
    A bit of werewolf speed brought him back to her side.
“Cooking for fun?”
    She accepted a plate without commenting on the generous size
of the portion. “Being a master chef.”
    “Males outnumber females roughly ten to one, so learning to
cook is fairly essential for those who like to eat.”
    “This is amazing.” Ivy forked another small bite of pie.
    “You make me happy.”
    She looked at him so gravely he had the feeling she saw much
more than he usually revealed. His commitment to her deepened with every breath
he drew. She deserved to know him as fully as he could bear. He cupped the side
of her face, to keep her attention on him, needing to share more of his truth.
“My job isn’t all sweet meadow grass and sunshine. At the end of the day, it’s
nice to come back to clean and orderly and make something delicious. It reminds
me the world holds truth, beauty, and kindness.”
    “You are a male of honor.”
    Her praise warmed his insides.
    “Don’t move. I’ll get more dessert.” His chest expanded with
more joy than he could hold as he prepared food for her with his own hands.
    He returned with a single plate. “Let me feed you.”
    A smile curved her lips. “Fine, I only want one more bite.”
    She lost the battle to drowsiness shortly after they
finished dessert. Chet cleaned up the remains, started the dishwasher, and then
carried her to bed.
    Like an exhausted child, she slept with her mouth slightly
open, completely relaxed in his arms. He turned back the covers and stripped
the robe, needing her skin to skin for her sake and his. Then he snuggled her
into his bed. She made a small sound of distress at first contact with the cool
linens.
    Except for the ugly scar on her left biceps, she was perfect
and much too fragile. He would have died to prevent any of those bastards
touching her and happily sacrificed a century of his life to have saved her
that rogue bite. His wolf insisted on licking her wound. So he did, soothing
the redness and the knotted muscles beneath the vicious punctures.
    He shucked his clothes, leaving them in a pile, and slipped
in next to her. She turned toward him, nestled against him in her sleep, and
seemed soothed by