I like her, but she doesn't seem to affect me the way she does the wolves.
I don't want to curl up in a ball at her feet and let her rub my belly.
Samuel's wolf looked wistful .
.
.
or maybe he was just hungry.
"No.
If I were the problem, if I were ravaging the countryside, she might help.
But this is not impulse, not desperation.
Samuel just feels that he no longer belongs, that he accomplishes nothing by his existence.
Even the Omega cannot fix him." "So what do you suggest?" I asked helplessly.
Anna, I thought, might be able to put Samuel back in the driver's seat, but, like the wolf, I was afraid that might not be a good thing.
He laughed, an unhappy laugh.
"I do not know.
But if you don't want to be trying to extract a wolf from the emergency room, it would be good to leave very soon." Sam rocked forward to get up and stopped halfway with a grunt.
"You're hurt," I said as I scrambled up to give him a hand.
He hesitated but took it and used me to give him better leverage so he could get all the way to his feet.
Showing me his weakness was a sign of trust.
Under normal circumstances, that trust would mean I was safer with him.
"Stiff," Sam answered me.
"Nothing that won't heal on its own now.
I drew upon your strength to heal enough that no one would know how bad the injuries were." "How did you do that?" I asked, suddenly remembering the fierce hunger that had resulted in a rabbit-and-quail dinner on top of the salmon I'd had with Adam.
I'd thought it had been someone in Adam's pack--for the very good reason that borrowing strength was one of those things that came with a pack bond.
"We aren't pack," I reminded him.
He looked directly at me again, then away.
"Aren't we?" "Unless you .
.
.
Unless Samuel's been conducting blood ceremonies when I was asleep, we're not." I was starting to feel panicky.
Claustrophobic.