Saving Bennett Reid (Book 3)

Hope Unanchored #SpookyFest2k20

(Bennett)

Eight hours of sleep, roughly.

It wasn't bad since we'd gone to bed around five this morning. I'd slept soundly and comfortably thanks to Carter who kept me caged in his arms for the time he slept next to me, his chest pressed to my back and his nose buried in the nape of my neck. His arms were like a steel forte that forbade me from getting away.

I thought I'd have trouble sleeping with the raid and all; remembering the lifeless eyes and faces, the mutilated bodies of our fallen brothers and sisters. It had brought about a new set of trauma I wasn't ready to deal with, still raw and aching from everything that had transpired within the last week.

The attack at the beach house. The kidnapping and torture; drugged up on wolfsbane for the millionth time within two years and hanging on the brink of death. Recovering, finding out that my biological father, his wife, and daughter were the leading traitors of Black Rock, watching my grandfather get shot and paralyzed and then watching so many more of my pack die.

It was an emotionally and mentally taxing week and it amazed me how I hadn't gone completely insane yet. But then I did know.

If it hadn't been for Carter sticking by me, for being that pillar of strength and support, I'd have caved into the madness and the darkness. I'd never have guessed that the Carter Kristian Hayes would become my rock. But he had and I was so damn grateful to the goddess for him.

So, with him by my side, even if his animal instincts had been in the driver's seat, his proximity had calmed me in a way I thought was impossible. Because of him, I was able to rest comfortably and recharge my strength and energy. I still felt tired, but that couldn't be helped. It was expected having worn myself out, pushing past limits I shouldn't have, and injected with a mild dose of relatively harmless wolfsbane.

It would also explain why I woke up with a painful hard-on that Carter just had to notice. He, of course, wasted no time, and took great pleasure in helping me get rid of it. One thing led to another and we'd ended up mating again. With a fresh dose of his hormones and enzymes zipping through my body like little lightning bolts, my minor wounds were already healing. The bullet wound on my shoulder was looking better.

I'd fallen asleep again for about three hours after we'd marked each other again but now I was freshened up, showered, and headed downstairs to greet him, a feeling of uneasiness fluttering through me. I always worried whenever Carter was in the kitchen alone, especially when there was the clanking of dishes and the aroma of homecooked food floating through the air.

I'll give him props because whatever he was cooking smelled heavenly.

My feet padded down the carpeted steps, across the short distance from the stairway to the adjoining archway that led to the kitchen of Carter's little hideaway cabin. I personally loved this cottage. It was cosy and had a feminine touch to it that made it feel welcoming and homey.

He'd told me last night that the cottage was originally built by hand, using stones and simple tools. His grandfather on his father's side had used building the cottage as a focus when he was around our age and struggling to cope with his animal instincts. The cottage was given as a gift to Beta Chad when he'd started showing signs of aggression, and it was given to him so that he'd have somewhere to escape to when he felt like he was losing control.

Carter had gone on to tell me that his father had refurbished the cottage, but Beta Chad's idea of regaining control was locking himself in the cellar just outside and punching the shit out of the concrete wall. According to Beta Chad, sprained wrists, broken knuckles, and ripped flesh had helped him focus on healing. That was had been his way of dealing with the aggression.