Page 92 of Savage Fate

“Is there anything I can do?” Saint leaned over and asked, chewing on his bottom lip.

Unlike everyone else, he sensed the turmoil in me. Hell, he could probably smell the sweat beading on my skin.

I shook my head.

“You’ll see Fane soon,” he said, dragging his fingertips over the back of my hand. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

After peeking in on my mate a few times, I realized he was at the Maleor Suprema coven house in the center of the city. Since the witch realm didn’t have cars, we had to take a train.

“It’s not Fane,” I blurted.

Damn it.

Why did I feel the need to spill my secrets to this man?

Saint’s brow furrowed as he studied me and then the nearby passengers as if they might be the cause for my tense behavior.

“What’s going on, Tate?” His nostrils flared while a luminescent sheen began to lighten those hypnotic gray orbs. “Is someone doing something to you? Tell me, and I’ll?—”

I groaned and rubbed the center of my forehead. “I kind of have this fear of small spaces.”

The urge to confess why—that my foster mother used to tie me to a pipe and lock me in her closet for days—burned through me. My mouth even opened, the words dangling on the tip of my tongue, but I snapped my teeth together.

Saint scrutinized the train car again, his lips pursing. The train wasn’t actually that cramped. We weren’t stuffed inside like a bunch of sardines, and I’d taken the aisle seat. The leather cushions were nice and comfy, and the shiny mahogany and gold décor was spotless.

Still, I couldn’t stop the sensation of everything falling in on me. The separation anxiety twisting around me probably exacerbated my fear. I wouldn’t react this badly with Fane here.

“I’ll be right back.” Saint stood, peering down at me while worry lines developed across his face. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

I gave a dry laugh and waved a shaky hand. “I’m a big girl. I can sit all by myself.”

“Sorry. It’s the alpha in me.” He smiled and then strolled down the aisle.

Eyes suddenly burned a hole in my head, and I flinched when a little witch girl stared at me as she perched backward in the seat in front of mine. She couldn’t have been more than seven, with violet hair and honey-brown eyes that reminded me of Hawk’s.

“Is that your boyfriend? Or I think shifters call them mates.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder in Saint’s direction as he vanished into another car, the door sliding closed behind him.

“No.” I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans.

She frowned. “Why not? He’s so pretty.”

I snorted. “He is very pretty, but we’re just friends.”

“Amelia, leave her alone.” The woman—probably her mother—turned toward me, sharing the same purple hair. “I’m so sorry if she’s bothering you. She’ll talk your ear off if you let her.”

So would Jayla.

“I don’t mind.” I normally kept to myself, but the kid did a good job of distracting me from my claustrophobia. “She reminds me of someone.”

The witch nodded and returned to her phone, tapping away on it while the little girl grinned.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” She rested her chin on the top of the leather seat, patiently awaiting my response. The setting sun highlighted silver strands that laced through the purple.

Amelia wasn’t going to let up. In her defense, it would be hard to top Saint Grimstone.

“I have a mate.”

I slipped my phone out of my pocket and pulled up a picture of Fane I took while he stood shirtless in front of an easel in his art studio. His midnight hair was a mess as if he’d been running his fingers through the locks, and a few splotches of paint splattered his bronzed, tattooed skin.

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