Page 101 of Peacock Me Like a Hurricane

That is one hundred percent true. Talia poked her head out for a brief minute in October and dallied with Wilde before ducking in her hidey hole again. Coincidentally , Dirty Deeds closed not long after, so it may have been less about him and more about reporting to the Company. Not that anyone invited her to come; Wilde must have blabbed about it like an idiot.

“Christ. You lot are a bunch of certified loonies. You’re all neuroses, no self-esteem, and no honesty.”

Feeling smacked, I retreat as I shake, shaking my head. “It’s not my fault he’s an ass. I’ve told you and her that.”

“You didn’t say he’d jump from bed to bed like a sodding gigolo!”

“I’mquitesure that I did!” I growl, getting angry. “Stop blaming his bullshit on me!”

“I wouldn’t have to if even one of you lot was the tiniest bit sane!”

Slamming his fist on the counter, he glares and stalks towards the door. “I think I need some time.”

With that, he’s gone.

The Cat and The Bird Can’t Shut It Out

THE CAT AND THE BIRD CAN’T SHUT IT OUT

Apresence in the room wakes up the predator inside me. I didn’t sleep much, and my body gave out about four am. I sit up and squint into the darkness as the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My body tightens from head to toe.

He’s here.

I don’t turn on the lights; instead, I let the emerald bleed in and use my night vision. This is good practice for learning to control individual features of my Beast. Full transformation is not only difficult to control, but lacks stealth. I look at the doorway to the hall and see him fidgeting, his expression nervous and aura awash with emotions like a bad LSD trip.

He was gone all night.

My first reaction is spite. He should be nervous, as he berated me for things outside of my control, didn’t respect my honesty, and made me worry all night long that he’d taken a powder. We may make a lot of lofty professions, but my heart isstill tapedtogether with duct tape. I have to fight not to panic every single time we fight like this, no matter what the reason is.

He knows that.

I itched all night because he was away and unlike any other mate I’ve ever had, the tug of being separated isn’t an emotionalache inside, but a physical problem. I tossed and turned for hours—my exhaustion led to a total shutdown. It sucked rocks and it’s his fault for being an ass. All I care about right now is that he’s home. I could kick myself for not being angrier, but I can’t help it.

He’s home.

I give him a small smile, feeling tentative as I whisper, “Hi, baby.”

What a giant pansy I am. This wasn’t my fault. I did nothing wrong. In fact, I worked hard to make sure that no one else did.

“Morning, love of mine,” he says, ditching his duster and shirt on the couch. He plops down onto the bed next to me. “I’m sorry.”

My eyes widen. Not like him to start with an apology. I tilt my head, studying him. “What for?”

I feel it’s necessary to find out what he thinks he’s apologizing for. In the past, others have hurt me and not given any specific reasons or excuses. That only leads to the same thing hurting me over and over as I think they never knew why they were saying sorry–or didn’t care, I’m not sure which.

“I shouldn’t have said that last night,” he mumbles.

Ah. He gets it. Let’s see how well he understands.

Nodding, I sigh. “It’s okay. It upsets you. You had a good reason.”

He shakes his head, pulling something out of his pocket and holding it up. My resolve turns to mush as I look at the small, badly knit sweater. “I pined.”

Shit. How do I push the envelope on that? I mean, the damned thing wouldn’t fit Twist, but he tried. Imagine what would happen if anyone but me got a picture of the killer of K Street with knitting needles and a baby blue yarn. He knew just how to get me with that one: an old joke about me missing him so much when he’s gone that I sit in a rocking chair and knit likea Civil War widow. He’s telling me how much he missed me with it, albeit sneakily.

I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze. I am so in love with this wonderful, moody, loving, difficult idiot that I don’t even know what to do with myself.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, love—truly. I know it hurt you; I could feel it all night. You cried, and it’s my fault. I lashed out and included you in a group of people that I shouldn’t have. Forgive me?”

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