Outlaw (Wolves of Royal Paynes #4) - Kiki Burrelli Page 0,17

oozed out from under the cardboard, mixing with the broken shells. It looked like Jazz had been in the middle of making pancakes, and every ingredient and utensil he'd planned on using lay discarded like it had all been tossed around the room.

"Why do I feel…?" Storri spotted Quinlan and stood slowly. He didn't rush to his nephilim brother, but approached cautiously. "You are safe, Quinlan. Breathe. You have to breathe, or you will lose consciousness."

Quinlan gasped but nodded. His pupils dilated, making his gaze dark.

"If you can, look at me, Quinlan. Look at my eyes. Watch me. You are safe. You are among your brothers. This is real." Storri's voice broke. Honestly, he'd lasted longer than I'd ever imagined possible before crying. He swallowed a loud breath, clinging to Faust's hand, his alpha having appeared silently beside him.

He wiped his cheeks with a tissue from Faust, continuing his slow approach so as not to startle Quinlan.

Quinlan's shadows squeezed around his arms like a hug. They were helping, as were Storri's words. Neither comforted Quinlan quickly enough to avoid him passing out. His breaths weren't coming any faster, but they were sharper, every inhale so desperate each one sounded like the last gasp of a dying man.

I didn't turn toward him. I didn't look at him. Neither was necessary for me to match my breaths with his, keeping pace until our shoulders rose in tandem. For the next several seconds, I concentrated on just breathing as he breathed. When I was certain that we were synched, I slowed my breathing, inhaling a fraction later.

When Quinlan's next breath also came a little later, my chest tightened with an emotion I couldn't place. Familiar in the same way as an old photo album uncovered after decades in an attic.

We breathed in sync for several more seconds before I slowed again, continuing until we were both breathing normally.

The entire time, Storri spoke in low tones. He stepped close enough to hold Quinlan's hand, and when he didn't pull away, Storri embraced him in gentle arms. Slowly, his breathing slowed; his skin cooled and cleared.

It was Storri physically comforting Quinlan, but my breaths he mimicked. I realized this was likely a basic survival reflex and not anything he realized he was doing, but just knowing something deep in him responded to me in any way made me and my wolf want to howl for joy.

"That's very good. You're doing so well," Storri crooned.

Jazz stepped forward, joining their embrace. "Don't even worry about all the broken stuff. I've been trying to find a way to convince Knox to do some redecorating. Problem solved." He flicked his index finger in the air as if checking off an item on a to-do list.

Quinlan let out a shaky breath that sounded like the echo of a chuckle and warmed the bones in my chest. He let out a loud exhale, longer than all the rest. "I'm sorry. They've never acted that way before." His eyes searched the shadows clinging to him as though he was searching for injuries.

"I believe it. Angus always waits to have his loudest outbursts when there are the most people around." Jazz led them to the table, and I hurried to turn the chairs upright. Isaiah lifted the chairs on the other side.

The entire pack was there, either cramped inside the kitchen or peering curiously in from the meeting room, like Siobhan and Jamie.

"What do you call them?" Jazz indicated the shadows with his forehead.

"They're my wraiths," Quinlan responded with some bewilderment, like the concept of his shadows having individual names had never occurred to him.

The shadows swelled and rolled as if they knew they were being spoken about. One angled around Quinlan's back to peer at Dog, who let out a low growl and stepped behind Storri. At realizing he'd used Storri as a protective shield, Dog snarled and switched their places, to Faust's amusement.

"They're clearly attached to you." Jazz smiled.

Quinlan smiled fondly, sending a bullet of jealousy tearing through my heart. All his fond smiles used to belong to me. "They are my protectors."

"What do they protect you from?"

Quinlan's shoulders jerked back, and his wraiths turned into angry maracas. He didn't turn his mismatched eyes to look at me.

First, he claimed I wasn't real; now he was set on pretending I wasn't there. But he hadn't been pretending upstairs. I held onto that thought as Jazz repeated my question.

With his gaze stubbornly turned from me, Quinlan hugged himself before answering in a