Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine

Chapter 85

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I’m stunned. I am not expecting the place where I met Jay to be the place where his father had passed

away.

“I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"He only had himself to blame for dying.” Jay shrugs. “Sister, there is no need for you to apologize,"

Jason says in a low voice.

I suspect the story is not so simple as Jay depicts it. ‘He only had himself to blame?’ that sounds

ominous. I’m surprised. I didn't been expect him to describe his father's death that way.

“Jay, I’m not sure what you mean by blaming him, perhaps it was some accident—“

“Was it? I don’t think so. He fell in love with someone he shouldn't have fallen in love with, then when

she discovered that he was useless, he was cast aside. She broke their bond. Even knowing the

damage it would do to her, she’d rather endure that pain than another moment with him. It didn't matter

even that he kneeled down and begged. No,” Jason’s eyes darken into an abyss. “No, that’s not

entirely true. The more he groveled and begged, the more she despised him.” He shakes his head. “In

the end, he died in despair. His weakness caused it. And he froze to death in the snow."

Jason's expression is indifferent as he talks about a man—his own father!—succumbing to

hypothermia. Even his voice is as calm as usual. But… this was his father!

And dying from exposure…that doesn’t make sense.

“Is there a reason he didn’t shift?”

Jason looks at me coldly.

That look. It’s how he looked the first time I saw him. He’d been distant then too. And… detached.

"Tell me,” he goads. “Did he not bring it upon himself?"

I’m not sure I can reply to that because from the way it sounds, I’m inclined to agree. Wolves crave the

cold. And a powerful male would have no trouble shifting and recovering.

”Is that woman your mother?” I ask him.

He’s silent. But there’s a flash of pain in his eyes.

And I have my answer.

I don't know how to comfort him, feeling that at this moment any words would be useless.

I stand slowly. His eyes are gold and he’s on edge. I move slowly around the table. I’m not afraid of Jay,

per say, but he’s very raw right now and I tread carefully.

I gather him into my arms and hug him.

The position almost has be siting in his lap, and though it isn’t immediate, eventually his arms come

around me.

“You’re not that little boy anymore,” I tell him. “You’re a good man. A strong wolf. And this life can be

anything you want it to be…”

Jay doesn’t say anything else. He lets me hug him for another few seconds then he pats my back, his

nonverbal cue that he’s had enough coddling.

“Oh, come on,” I tease him. “You like my hugs.”

He snorts.

That little chuff of humor is enough for me.

“I still think you should head home. Spend the weekend in your true form.”

“You can’t run—“ he stops himself.

Ah. Now it begins to make more sense.

I take his face in my hands. “You’re right, Jay. My wolf is gone. But if I could, I would. I’d go with you

and trounce your ass in a race.”

He laughs again.

“Don’t pass up the opportunity to be with your pack… trust me on this… you don’t realize just how

much it means to have a pack, until you don’t.”

He nods.

I let go of him and move to the kitchen sink.

I’m… saddened.

I don’t want Jay to make sacrifices for me. And I don’t want him living as he is. He’s capable of more.

He deserves more.

And he’d have all of those things… he’d be with his pack right now, even.

If it wasn’t for me…