Eyes wide with something akin to fear, she huffed in air.
“Jessa, what’s wrong? Did I scare you, sweetheart?” Sitting up, he had to shift to adjust the throb of his cock in his pants. The metallic scent of her fear had his pulse increasing. “Jessa, please, what’s wrong?”
He reached a hand out to her, but she started shaking her head and then jumped off the bed. He noticed her tugging at the edge of her shirt. Rage grew inside of him, so bright it clouded his vision, and had his whole body strung tight.
Someone had hurt her, and she was scared to death because of it.
“Jessa, sweetheart, talk to me.” Shaking her head wildly, her mouth moved, but nothing came out. Thayer sounded desperate.
“No, no, no, no. I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She rushed out of the room, and he went after her.
“Did I hurt you?” His chest constricted as he saw her hair billowing out behind her and heard the sound of her feet padding across the floor.
“No, it’s me not you. It’s always me.” Her voice sounded tight, and he smelled the clean scent of her tears that came from her. She headed toward the front door. It was obvious her thoughts weren’t clear. She wore a pair of jeans and a thin, long-sleeved shirt.
She would freeze to death.
Just as she reached the door Deacon came through it. She skidded to a stop. His somewhat relaxed face turned to stone. He flicked his eyes in Thayer’s direction, and a deep, animalistic growl came from him.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Thayer saw her body flinch and took a step toward her, but Deacon had her wrapped in his arms. Tiny hands balled into fists rested against Deacon’s chest.
His brother’s lethal stare was on him.
“Thayer, you better tell me what the fuck is going on. I can smell you all over her, and she’s crying.”
Spearing his hands in his hair, Thayer started pacing back and forth. He should have gone with his gut instincts when they screamed at him that this was a bad idea.
He stopped pacing and stared at her small, huddled form. Whoever had hurt her was going to pay.