Chapter 22: Chapter 22

SLOAN

Sloan’s eyes were beginning to burn as he stared at the piles of papers before him.

Declan had had the forensics team process the note before Sloan received it. His name, written in Elizabeth’s hand, was on the envelope, and the card inside had the number thirty-three written on it.

It was a new riddle that they’d added to the rogue mystery, and it was the first time they’d openly communicated with them. He tapped the card on the table, puzzled by the number and what it could mean.

Sloan sighed heavily and dropped it on the desk. It was as frustrating as the identities of the rogue members who continued to elude them.

He glanced at the time and groaned. It was past midnight already. ~Some first day as a mated couple~, Sloan thought, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Then he chuckled to himself. His female was simply astounding. She’d surprised them with a late lunch, and they’d all sat around the small table chatting.

During their conversation, Sloan saw the genuine shock on her face as they all spoke about their different roles in J & Sons Multinational Corporation, a company that the Jamisons owned.

Sloan was the chief executive officer, while Tristan was the chief financial officer. Declan was head of security, and Leanne held a senior security training position.

Sloan had explained that it was the only corporation in Seattle funded and run by shifters and creatures of other species.

He smiled, thinking about the cute, confused, and disgusted face Myra had made when they began discussing economic projections and financial figures.

Reflecting on their chat, he realized it was a group effort to keep the conversation away from the killings and problematic rogues.

After their meals, with Leanne’s help, Myra had taken the dishes back to the kitchens, and the girls disappeared somewhere inside the house.

Sloan was glad that she didn’t demand his constant attention. She already understood the pressures of him being alpha.

Some hours later, she’d returned. Sloan smelled the freshness of her recent shower, and he loved the baggy gray sweater dress she’d chosen.

She’d curled up with a book and quietly kept him company. Being in her presence had a calming effect, and he appreciated that she didn’t fill their companionable silence with idle chatter.

He stood up, stretched, and strolled over to her. He gazed down at his sleeping angel.

She was curled into a small ball, a throw pillow cuddled to her chest. He took the blanket off the back of the couch and gently laid it over her.

Sensing that she was in a deep sleep, he opened up the electronic map and stared at the points indicated on its surface. Like earlier, there seemed to be no order to their chaos.

“So those are the locations where the rogues attacked people?” Myra’s sleepy voice broke through his racing thoughts.

“Shit! How did you…?” He jumped, looking down at her in shock. He then glanced at her bare feet and quickly realized why he hadn’t heard her move toward him.

She wiggled her toes before answering, “You were so engrossed in that map that you didn’t even hear me.”

“Are you sure you aren’t mixed with tiger DNA?” he teased, causing her to laugh. He turned back to the map and nervously wondered how to distract her. “I really—”

“Sloan, stop it. I’m not a pup, nor am I a weakling!” she snapped at him. Her sudden outburst aroused him. “So I’m right in thinking these are the locations?”

Realizing it was a lost battle, he nodded. ~I really shouldn’t~, he thought, looking at physical files on the desk next to them.

Against his better judgment, he picked up the files and explained the events between the first attacks and hers.

He saw that she didn’t flinch at the graphic images. She listened attentively to his every word. Once he’d finished explaining, she just nodded and looked over the files.

“So it all just seems random, huh?”

“Yeah. If there’s a pattern, only the rogues know it,” Sloan grumbled.

“We also concluded that someone has to be organizing the rogues to have them working as a unit, because these attacks”—he pointed to two spots—“occurred on the same day, just hours apart.”

“But in two different parts of the city. Sloan, you said I was the only survivor. Are you sure?” Myra questioned.

“Yeah, why?”

“No one is this good their first time. There have to be others who survived, attacks that may seem like wild animal attacks to humans.”

Sloan stared at her in shock. They hadn’t actually considered other survivors. Their main focus was always on the murdered victims.

“I’ll get Declan to check out that lead first thing in the morning. I love the way your brain works,” he said excitedly, walking over to his desk and quickly typing up a reminder note for Declan.

“Well, I ~am~ a teacher. Understanding how children interpret the world is my job. Speaking of jobs…”

Sloan stilled at her words, and he waited for her to continue.

“I need you to understand that once my medical leave is up next week, I’ll be returning to work.”

Her words, even though they were true, felt like a sucker punch to his gut. Sloan dropped onto his chair, breathing an exhausted sigh.

“Myra, it’s dangerous out there at the moment. And with Elizabeth now on the loose, I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you being away from this house for eight hours daily.”

Sloan should have felt like a weak man confessing like that to Myra, but he didn’t. He heard her soft footfalls as she walked over to him. He watched as she yanked the hem of her dress up and straddled him.

It took all his willpower to ignore the warmth of her sex just inches from his, even with the fabric barriers of their clothing separating them.

However, his female wasted no time. She grabbed his bearded face in her small hands and forced him to look her in the eye.

“Listen to me, and listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once,” she said calmly, gazing into his eyes.

“I’m not one of those women who hooked herself the fattest fish in the ocean and thinks that’s that. I love my job. It provides me with some purpose in life.

“Furthermore, I love my students, so please don’t ask me to choose.”

“I would never. But until these bastards are found, I’m not taking any chances.”

“And I understand.”

“Okay, Declan could—” he started, but she swiftly placed her finger on his lips, silencing him.

“No. Declan is your man. I want Leanne,” she insisted.

He smiled and nodded. “Any other demands, my tiny terrorist?” he teased, gazing into her brightening eyes.

She shook her head, and he was suddenly overcome with emotion.

“I don’t care if it’s too soon, but I love you,” he said, pulling her in to kiss her deeply. “That’s bedroom rule number three, by the way,” he muttered against her lips.

He felt her lips rise into a smile, and she kissed him again. “I love rule number three, because I love you too.”

~Perfect. Now I need you to have my last name~, he thought, then he tensed. He hoped his thoughts were private and blocked from hers.

When she gave no response, verbally or physically, he relaxed and hugged her tightly.

Sloan’s mind was preoccupied with how and when he was going to propose to her, but then she began to grind herself shamelessly against his hardening cock.

She leaned forward and started nibbling on his neck. His eyes rolled back in his head as he smelled her distinctive arousal.

Sloan found it was difficult to focus as he shut down his computer and hid the screen with the map. The little minx on his lap was taking her wicked liberties with his body and his preoccupied mind.

~Patience makes the heart grow fonder~, Sloan repeated to himself as he stood up and allowed her to slide down his body. “Soon, my dear. Let me secure these documents, and I’ll take you upstairs and fulfill your every demand.”

She pouted up at him then a wicked glint flashed across her eyes. He arched his eyebrow but quickly dismissed it. He hurriedly gathered up the files and placed them in the safe below his desk.

As he closed the door, her scent suddenly grew overpoweringly strong, causing him to spin around.

But Myra was gone.

In her place was a rumpled, lacy piece of fabric, which lay on the ground. Sloan strolled over to it and picked it up. It was her panties, still warm from caressing her body and damp from her arousal.

Sloan brought the material up to his nose and deeply inhaled her scent. The heavenly smell went straight to his cock, making him impossibly hard. He growled low as he lowered the garment from his face.

~“So you want to play, Angel?”~ he linked with her, and all he heard was Myra’s giggles echoing in his head. Sloan’s senses heightened, and his wolf clawed to be released in response to her actions.

His sight sharpened, and his nose flared as his breathing heightened. His hearing tuned in to Myra’s labored breathing from somewhere in the house.

~“Let’s play, baby. But remember, I’ll always find you.”~

He stalked out of his office. His predator animal spirit took control as he searched for his prey. He followed the intoxicating vanilla scent of her arousal.

Strangely, it took him in the direction of the kitchens, and as he pushed open the doors, the potency of her scent increased. His little vixen was waiting for him with a can of whipped cream.

The moment she clapped eyes on him, he watched as she opened her mouth and sprayed some of the white fluffy cream inside.

His eyes followed the movement of her throat as she swallowed, then he groaned as she slowly licked her lips. She was torturing him, and his cock twitched uncomfortably in his already tight pants.

“Did you lose something?” he teased, and she tilted her head to the side with a smirk.

“Did I?” she purred innocently, inching her way toward the other doors, which led out of the kitchens.

“You have until the count of ~three~,” he said darkly, thoroughly enjoying this foreplay, “~two~ make your escape,” he punned, but she quickly grasped his meaning and darted out through the door.

He smiled brightly as he heard her laughter echoing throughout the near-empty hallways. ~“One!”~

He jogged after her, not wanting to catch up to her. Not just yet.

However, he felt like a junkie surrounded by her scent, and he was reaching his patience limit. He climbed the stairs to their second-floor bedroom, two at a time, before barging into their room.

He paused in the doorframe, dumbfounded. Myra was gloriously nude and seated on the leather couch with whipped cream decorating her neck, chest, and stomach.

Her angelic voice pulled him in. “Late-night snack?”

Sloan glanced up to the heavens. ~Thank you for giving me a naughty angel as a mate~, he prayed, closing the door and swiftly locking it.