His dark speckled gaze searched my eyes. Emotion filled its depth, but since I barely knew the guy, I had no idea what exactly I was seeing.
“Come on.” With my hand on his arm, I led him to take a seat on the bed. Once settled, I retreated to the winged-back chair. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” A croak split the word. A quick clearing of his throat, and he ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. “Yeah, think so.”
“Has the pain eased?”
He nodded and stretched his neck out. A slow, almost tentative touch to the juncture of his throat and shoulder followed. Wide eyes flared on contact.
“You’ll always have the scar,” I explained. “But it’s healed. Does it feel numb?”
He shook his head. “Sensitive but not painful.”
“That’s good. Need food, drink?”
White teeth flashed my way before he said, “No, but thanks. I’ll have something in a minute.” A frown slipped over his otherwise wrinkle-free forehead.
“You okay?” I sat forward, waiting for him to respond.
A nod, and his frown settled.
“Have they started?” Anxiety clawed its way to my chest. This was it. I’d finally get answers.
“Yeah. I think so.” As soon as he said the words, he tilted his head and shut his eyes. They squeezed tightly together. “Fuck.”
I stood quickly, hurried to his side, and planted myself on the mattress next to him. “What is it?”
He shook his head. “It’s confusing, so damn confusing. Everything is jumbled….” His voice hitched, and I reached out and placed my hand on his back. Emotion clogged my throat. This was all too real. I had no idea what he was seeing or experiencing, but the spike of his heart rate set me on edge. The loud thud pounded hard, the sound impossible to miss.
“Breathe.” I inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Come on. Breathe with me.” Repeating the action, I kept it slow and steady. The last thing he needed to do was hyperventilate. “You’ve got this.” Think. Thatch had to take control, find a way of structuring and ordering everything flooding his brain. While he had no control of what came to him, he needed to find a way to not let them overwhelm him.
“Okay.” I knelt before him, hands on his forearms. “Eyes on me.” When deep brown and green peered back at me, I gave an encouraging smile. “Think about how old Hazel seems, think about the location.” He nodded. “Begin to separate them, compartmentalise them. I know from psych training you know how to do that.” We’d been trained in all manner of areas, psychology being just one in a long list. While I’d been bored as hell during classes, I begrudgingly admitted it had its uses.
Finally.
“Can you do that?”
Still silent, he nodded.
“Good.” I searched my memories, considered what else would help. “Lucinda.” Steady. Controlled. The word was as unemotional as I could make it. “Her daughter. She’s eight. Use that to help you if anything includes her.” With the mention of my niece, Thatch visibly relaxed. Not sure what that meant, I pushed on. It was no use questioning him now. “Six months ago, they ran, the two of them.”
“Okay.” Steady and a little less gruff, his voice made me smile. He was taking control.
“They headed south, just the two of them, but they must have had help.” The latter based on the call my ma had been told about.
With Thatch’s eyes still connected to mine, it was easy to spot the recognition in them. Expressive eyes. I shook the thought away. Concentration from both of us was the key. I’d missed out on so much of Hazel’s life, but I knew enough I could help him.
“How you doing there, Thatch?”
An audible breath escaped him. It sounded relieved. He sat back, and I angled away, giving him some room. “Good.” He tilted his head back again, exposing the column of his smooth throat, his Adam’s apple pronounced and lickable.
I cleared my throat and stood. My reaction to him was dangerous. The last thing I needed was to become entangled with the guy who was effectively now my boss. More than that, he stored some of my sister’s memories. That was weird as hell.
Returning to the chair, I gave myself a moment to gather myself before turning back to him. “You ready?”
“I am.” He surprised me by standing. “Let me get some pants on. Then can we do this after I eat?”
Despite my frustration, I nodded. He’d been through a lot, and this was his call. Emotions and my personal stake should have nothing to do with this. It just wasn’t that simple. “No worries. I’ll fix something up and meet you downstairs in twenty.” I expected he’d want a quick shower after all his body had been through. As delectable as the gleam of sweat looked on his midnight skin, he had to be uncomfortable.
“Thanks.” With that, he turned. I followed suit and headed to the kitchen.
The pasta was almost cooked and the veggies all but ready by the time Thatch stepped into the large kitchen. I hadn’t heard his descent down the staircase. It was the slight change in air, a small vibration that alerted me to his presence. I was either losing my touch, distracted, or he was simply that stealthy. As a shifter, I had no doubt he would be lethal.
“I found cooked chicken in the fridge and some veggies, so have thrown pasta together.”
“Sounds good.”
At the sound of his voice, I glanced his way. Deliberately not allowing my gaze to travel the length of him, it was still impossible to not notice how well he scrubbed up. At least six two, he had a couple of inches on me. A deep red shirt covered his chest, leaving very little to my imagination, not that I needed to think too hard to remember what he looked like naked. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
