Defending Their Mate, Part One: A BBW Shifter Werewolf Romance (The Last Pack) by Mia Thorne Page B

dangerous.
    It was beautiful and deadly, and she hated her own fascination with it.
    "If you ever feel like you need to use it," Mac said quietly, "then I want you to."
    Her gut twisted as she remembered the last time she'd wielded a blade. She'd stolen that one too, slipped the steak knife from the table during dinner. The wolves holding her captive had brought her here, hoping to exchange her for someone less mean, less broken.
    They'd ended up dead. Grace had killed one of them. And when Mac had tried to take that steak knife from her, she'd cut him up, too. "Even though I've already hurt you once?"
    "You had reasons. Maybe none that were my fault, but reasons, all the same. Anyone who says you didn't is lying."
    Her reasons? Pain. Fear. She could only tolerate so much of either before something inside her snapped free and turned into a snarling, violent…
    Werewolf .
    Swallowing hard, Grace shoved the knife back into the sheath and turned. "You shouldn't give this to me. I could hurt someone."
    "You could," he agreed. "But I don't think you want to, so I trust you."
    "Wanting or not wanting doesn't always matter." Especially not now, when everything felt so different. Her inner violence had risen close to the surface, and Mac's… Oh, she could see it in him. The danger. The darkness. She wanted to test herself against it, to find out what he'd do if she lunged at him.
    "Then consider it a responsibility."
    She rubbed her thumb along the handle. Responsibility felt strange because it implied power, and she'd been helpless for so damn long. She'd been backed into so many corners, she couldn't remember what it felt like not to lash out.
    Nice, probably. Maybe even safe. "Okay. I'll try."
    "You have to." He straightened from his leaning position against the door jamb, but only to open the refrigerator. The harsh light illuminated his even harsher features as he pulled a bottle of water from its shelves. "Think about Ashley and the baby."
    Grace stilled, her heart stopping for one terrifying moment. Ashley was the only other female in the pack, a sweet and generous woman who had worked hard to make her feel welcome and safe. She was the reason Grace had snapped the last time—not to hurt her, but to protect her.
    "I wouldn't hurt Ashley," she whispered, uncertain until the words left her lips. But they felt true in a way little else had, and her heart started beating again. "I know I wouldn't."
    He shut the refrigerator and offered her the bottle. "How do you know?"
    Because if things could continue like this, she might not have to hurt anyone else again. Ashley didn't scare her, and neither did Blake, her mate. He was so devoted to Ashley he barely noticed when Grace was in the room.
    The others saw Grace. They watched her. And when her body became her enemy again, she'd need things, them , so badly the hunger would tear her up inside.
    Pain and fear. And if they tried to soothe either, she might tear them to pieces.
    Mac was still staring at her. Waiting, holding out the bottle of water. She reached for it and nearly gasped as her fingers curled around the chilly plastic.
    She felt hot all over. She pressed the bottle to the side of her face, soothing her flushed cheeks. "Ashley doesn't scare me," she said finally. "It only happens when I'm scared."
    "Makes sense." Mac took a step back. "Put the knife under your pillow and try to get some sleep, Grace."
    She edged past him, forcing herself to take steady steps. Conflicting desires clashed inside her, the urge to rub against him and the equally strong temptation to bolt and see if he'd chase her.
    She allowed herself neither. But she did stop in the doorway and glance back. "Thank you, Mac."
    "Anytime."
    Grace kept her easy, slow pace until she reached the stairs. Then she scampered up them, her thoughts whirling, her body tensed as if Mac would appear behind her at any moment, his big body curling around hers—
    She reached her room and slammed the door behind her. Her