After several minutes of poking and twisting at the shower’s many knobs, I stood under a cold waterfall. And as faint pink swirls slid down the drain, I prayed that these dangerous feelings I had for a five-foot-nothing female shifter would slip down the drain just as easily.
—
“So . . . I have to tell you something. Don’t get mad.”
Great.
Did she know me at all? If she thought I would get mad, I probably would. No. I would. Hands down.
I shoved another piece of bacon into my mouth, washing it down with orange juice before I grabbed a square of something she called waffle. Reagan watched me, thankfully with clothes on this time, a faint smirk on her lips.
“What?” I asked, my mouth still full.
“Well, Alec was here this morning while you were asleep. He has a bad habit of dropping in before his patrol.” Her eyes dropped to the table. “And I have to meet with Mordecai before I go out tonight.”
Abruptly, I swallowed. Bits of bacon lodged in my throat. Choking, I pounded a fist on my chest. “Wait—” I coughed, taking another large swallow of orange juice. “That was . . . that was a lot to digest all at once. Alec comes here? Came here while I was sleeping, and you’re only telling me this now?”
“Alec does what he wants. But you’re safe enough. He won’t go beyond the living room unless I’m home. Never does. And I chase him out every time. I’m sure you’ll see—hear—what I mean.” Reagan poked at the edge of her plate. “And yes, he was only here long enough to deliver that message. It was a nice change.”
I couldn’t quite organize my thoughts, so I simply sat there, gaping as she stared at her plate. Yeah, his presence here was a huge complication and I almost bolted for the door, but what glued me to the chair was her last words. Nice change. This was none of my business, I warned myself, yet my one encounter with him still sat like bile on my tongue. What he’d said about her . . .
“When you say he does what he wants . . . what does he want, exactly?” I asked carefully, watching her expression.
Her eyebrows pinched together, lips pressed into a firm line. “Something he can’t have,” she growled.
In the next instant, I was up out of my chair, hands slamming against the tabletop. “Has he touched you?” I thundered, incapable of lowering my voice. “Because I swear I’ll kill him. I don’t care who he is, I’ll—”
I jerked upright before I could say more, pushing past the table and into the living room. Facing the sliding door, I stared at the sprawling city below. Everything was blurred shapes. I had overreacted just now. I knew that. But the words had dredged up memories. Ignited a fire I couldn’t control. Behind me, all was silent as I worked on slowing my raging pulse.
Fingertips grazed my arm. “Hey. I’m okay. He gets handsy, but he leaves with broken parts every time he does.”
Broken.
Broken.
Screams. Pain. Helplessness.
A flame, so pure and good.
Snuffed out.
Broken, broken, broken.
The word was a pounding beat in my skull. Over and over it played. I couldn’t think. Could only re-imagine a beautiful, broken girl, dying in more ways than one at the hands of—
In the next moment, she was wrapped in my arms. I pressed my mouth to her hair. Breathed her in. Sweet and spicy, apples and cinnamon. I held her like that, clutched tightly to my hammering chest, never wanting to let go. Afraid she would pull away. But she didn’t. Her slender arms wrapped around me in return, and my heart almost burst.
What are you doing? my mind hissed.
I buried my nose in her hair.
She’s not your girl. Snap out of it. You’re only going to ruin her.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore the voice, but the thoughts were relentless.
And right.
My demon was right.
Reaching up, I took Reagan’s shoulders and gently pushed her back. Not meeting her eyes, afraid of what I’d see there, I whispered, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She slid her hands over mine, squeezing softly. “Don’t stress over a hug. Someday I’ll break you of that Fae modesty.”
But she wouldn’t look at me either.
My eyes burned with exhaustion. I hadn’t slept. At first I had been too wired from the night’s events. Then worried about Tarik after—
No. I didn’t want to dissect the layers behind that hug. Tarik was never so vulnerable, and while I had always imagined he had the capacity for it, to see the raw emotions firsthand . . .
I wanted to push him. To force that side of him out into the light. But I worried he wouldn’t be able to fight off that dark, angry persona and I would end up the victim of that nasty temper. Again.
A shifter must have hurt him badly to leave such deep, invisible scars. He reacted too impulsively, driven too much by those concealed emotions for me to believe otherwise. When he was scared, or concerned, he pulled me in. Then he spent the rest of his time shoving me away. I was stuck in a game of tug-o-war that usually left me in the mud.
Honestly, after that kiss, I might be better off running far away.
If nothing else, Tarik was filling a lonely void I hadn’t realized existed in my life. I had Nevaeh; the only person in the universe I could say with absolute certainty loved me as much as I loved her. Our friendship meant more to me than anything, and she was always there when I needed her . . . but she didn’t visit often.
And Nevaeh didn’t make me feel flustered. Nervous. I didn’t think about her all the time, didn’t
