Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine

Chapter 56

JASON

I hug Grace.

G*ddamn she isn’t kidding.

She stinks. Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

Like all manner of awful, rotting, dead things.

My wolf is not happy about this at all.

He’s growling and snapping at me.

Not at her though.

My wolf is furious… for her.

Interesting.

I lower my head and gently place my cheek against her neck. It’s faint, really faint, but beneath the

shitty stench of garbage, her skin smells like her. I focus on that.

Lily had intentionally made things difficult for Grace today and I hate that Lily was so petty and that she

forced Grace to labor so terribly.

Part of me recognizes the hypocrisy. I’m every bit an old world wolf.

By our old laws—an eye for an eye.

If Lily had attacked Grace and they fought wolf to wolf, then that would be justice served. But we are

not living in the old world.

And Lily, especially, has chosen to walk in the spotlight. Which makes her egregious abuse of power

and media inexcusable.

“Jay, please! Let me go.”

"Sister, no matter what odor you have on your body, you don't have to stay away from me."

"But..." Grace squirms with embarrassment and I’m not entirely sure if she’s protesting because of the

stench or just to get out of my arms.

My wolf grumbles.

"Since we've already promised to depend on each other, then what is there to avoid? Does it mean that

one day if I smell or sweat, you will deliberately stay away from me?"

Grace is silent for a while. Her racing heart gradually slows. "All right, I understand. I won't do it again."

Good. “Come, it’s cold.” I grab her hand and we walk back to her shitty, little cramped apartment.

“You go shower and change,” I tell her. “I will make dinner.”

She tilts her head at me, no doubt wondering if I can cook. And to be fair, I didn’t have to do much back

at the cabin for that stew we shared.

She’s not wrong. I have virtually no experience in the kitchen, but cooking is based on measurements,

temperatures and timing. I’m an engineer by nature and all of those elements are quantifiable.

I’ll figure it out.

“Go,” I insist, pushing her forward.

Grace heads into the bathroom and closes the door.

I roll up his sleeves and get to work.

Grace stays in the bathroom for close to an hour. At one point I smell the sharp scent of bleach. And

though i’ve done a decent job of cooking the meat and rice, by the time she comes out and sits across

from me, the food has cooled.

Grace doesn’t seem to notice and she eats with relish. “This is delicious, Jay!”

Of course it is. I brought the cuts of beef myself and they’re prime.

"What happened today?" I ask.

Grace hesitates and chews slowly before setting her fork down.

“It’s silly, really. And before I even get into it, let me just say that today’s event has been blown way out

of proportion.” She cocks her head to the side and considers me. “Given all the people and all the

workers and police involved, I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it already on social media.” She

nudges my phone. “You didn’t even try to peek?”

“I don’t want to hear about it online, I want to hear about it from you.”

Grace takes a long drink of water. Then she begins.

It’s fascinating to watch her. The way the gears turn in her head. How she compartmentalizes the

details that reveal her emotions and how she can tell a story in such a way to avoid casting blame.

I’m silent the whole time. I know she isn’t a fan of long silences when we’re in conversation so the

longer I go without speaking, the more she fills in the gaps.

Finally I ask, "Aren't you angry?"

She chuckles at my question. "There's nothing to be angry about."

"She hadn't really lost a ring, she was just making trouble, wasn't she? Why aren't you angry?"

"Because there's no point in getting angry," she replies. "Do you know Jason Reed?" she asks

suddenly.

I tense. I felt my eyes flash. A reflexive action I wasn’t able to control. I angle my head down so my hair

covers my face. I concentrate on cutting my food into small, even pieces.

“He's pretty much the most powerful person in this city. Of course, he’s rich. A billionaire or something,

and either for his money or influence, people want to curry favor with him," she says.

“What about him?” I say neutrally.

”When I was still incarcerated, because I was charged as the driver who caused his future luna's death,

there were plenty of people who ingratiated themselves to him by hurting me in prison. If I got angry

over everything, then, other than ultimately angering myself to death, there would be no other benefit

from it."

She says this offhand while scooping more rice into her bowl. It might have been said dismissively, but

my heart feels a distinctive twinge.

I can see her.

Alone.

Broken.

Beaten.

Tortured.

Of course there were moments, especially in the first days of the accident when I thought about

retribution. It was an accident. But she’d been deemed drunk.

Knowing her as I do now, I don’t believe that.

For one, there isn’t a drop of booze in the house and in all the time I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her

willingly drink or even suggest having one.

But what’s more, she just doesn’t seem the type to lie. At least not to me.

Even if she didn't spell it out explicitly, I could guess what she went through in prison. Just as she said,

there were too many people trying to curry my favor.

There were even some who’d actually mentioned how they had "taught her a lesson" in prison. How did

I respond?

I rewarded one wolf with a stretch of land and several others with lucrative business contracts. Others, I

thanked them with a laugh.

Before… it had all been a very trivial issue for me.

And yet now, I’m feeling somewhat regretful.

If I had known then that she was this kind of woman, if I had known I would have crossed paths with

her, and maybe even gotten along with her like this, would I have let anyone lay a finger upon her in

prison? No. Absolutely not.

I might even... not have let her be imprisoned at all!

"Are you okay?"

Grace raises a hand and waves it before my eyes.

I abruptly grab her hand and trace the rough callouses on her palm.

“Did you suffer in prison, Grace?”

She swallows hard and looks away. She shudders. Looking at her hands. The bones that aren’t set

evenly. The thick, swollen knuckles.

I already have my answer.

When she manages to meet my gaze again, her expression is clear. Grace smiles faintly. "It's all in the

past. And really, if it wasn’t for everything that happened, we wouldn’t be here…”