Page 13 of Touch of Evil

I tried to be a spy once. I had a disguise and a mission and everything. We refer to it as “the incident” and no one is allowed to discuss it in my presence.

“Well?” Bren pushes.

“I…I need tampons,” I blurt out.

“Huh?”

“Tampons?’ I repeat.

I don’t really need tampons. My cycle finished last week. It’s just a distraction tactic Taran came up with to avoid coming clean with the males in our lives when we’re involved in something they wouldn’t approve of and will likely get us arrested and / or killed—for the greater good, always. Well, almost always for the greater good.

For some reason, it really works.

“Tampons?” he clarifies.

I don’t get the chance to respond. He holds up his hands and backs away, more than proving that no matter how sordid, there’s always something to Taran’s logic.

“Can’t help you there, babe,” Bren tells me. He watches me sip my water. It’s then his features change. “Are you…are you meeting someone here?”

There’s a light snarl to his voice, almost imperceptible, but definitely there. I play with my hair, wondering what he’s thinking and why he appears so bothered.

I would never bring a date here, and the only male I’ve brought around Bren was Liam. Something about another man, especially awerein Bren’s presence seems wrong, a betrayal I can’t explain.

Bren’s focus travels from my hand and to my face.

My hand falls away from my hair and still he doesn’t move.

There’s no reason to keep my night a secret and promptly explain. “I was on a date, earlier, but I didn’t have a good time.”

His voice lowers. “Why not?”

Bren doesn’t bother to mask the irritation in his voice. As part of his chosen pack, he was always protective. “The wolf, Ted, wasn’t who I thought he was.”

“Those assholes you waste your time on never are, Emme,” Bren says. He snags another ticket and pops open several bottles of beer, his motions usually smooth and well-learned, are now aggressive.

I don’t discuss my social life with Bren. It’s odd that he knows how awful my dating history is. I speak carefully, not wanting to upset him further. “I haven’t had much luck,” I admit. “But I’m trying. I…I don’t want to be alone.”

The truth spills out of me without my permission. I didn’t want it to, especially in front of Bren, but here it is, mingling with the band’s increasing tempo and the aroma of cologne and freshly poured beer.

Bren stills with the beer in his hand, the top already popped and lying somewhere on the floor. He swallows hard. “Did he…touch you, kiss you, shit like that?”

His question stiffens my spine. Is he really going there? “No,” I admit.

He sighs, relieved. “Good.”

I make a face. “He was too busy stripping out of his clothes and asking if I liked what I saw.”

“On the street?” Bren asks.

“No,no. In his apartment over on Were Alley.”

Bren slams the beer on the bar, shattering it. “Fuck,” he snarls.

He sticks his hand into an empty bucket and shakes off the shards of glass imbedded into his skin. With another snarl, he wipes up the mess with a rag.

Like allweres, Bren’s skin tough. The glass doesn’t appear to have punctured deep enough to cut. Still, I reach for his palm, bent on inspecting it for damage.

He pulls away. “Why the hell did you follow some asshole back to his apartment?” he demands.

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