Page 93 of Bonds of Hate

I unroll the paper to reveal a small handful of distinctly bi-colored pills.

“Take two,” he commands. “A double dose will make up for the delay in restarting.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

Ice-chip eyes don’t blink as he studies me. “Are you suggesting I would put the prince’s prized Omega in any danger?”

Cradling the packet in my hand, I shift it slightly so the pills tumble against each other. “If I double up, then these won’t last more than a few days.”

He returns the pointed look. “If you’d rather go into an unexpected heat, that’s your choice. I really don’t give a fuck.”

I recognize these suppressants as a type I’ve taken before. They are commercially made, at least, but an olderformulation so the pills themselves are as big as the tip of my pinkie finger.

My only choice is to relent. “Fine. I’ll take them as soon as I have some water.”

“Absolutely not. Swallow it down now or I’m taking them back.”

I gape at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m entirely serious.” He holds out a slim hand and gestures with elegantly tapered fingers. “The others might indulge your attitude, but I will not.”

For the love of…

I swallow the pills dry, silently cursing him for not giving these to me when I could have taken them with some sort of liquid. A pill-sized lump lingers in my throat, but I manage to get them both down.

He watches me the entire time, finally looking away when I let out a hacking cough that tastes like chalk and sawdust.

“Happy now?” I ask sarcastically.

“Exuberant,” he replies flatly.

His comment about my attitude is particularly ironic, I think, as Cillian turns his back on me to watch the floor numbers slowly countdown to the basement level.

“You really don’t like me very much, do you?”

His shoulders tense, but he doesn’t turn around or otherwise acknowledge the question. The silence lasts long enough that I assume he isn’t going to answer when he finally snaps. “My feelings are irrelevant.”

“Not to me.” I rub my throat, skirting the suddenly irritated gland in my neck that has to be a side effectof taking too large of a dose of suppressant. “You’re part of Logan’s pack. If you hate me, that’s going to be a problem.”

“I don’t hate you.”

I fight down a sudden urge to laugh, even though nothing about this situation is funny. “But you also don’t like me.”

The elevator chimes and the doors slide open to reveal the underground parking garage. Cillian strides out without waiting for me, his footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.

I hurry after him, cursing my shorter legs. “You’re not even going to answer me?”

“I don’t hate you.” His voice is clipped. “Now keep up or get left behind.”

“Yeah, I’m not sureI believe that.”

He stops so abruptly I nearly crash into his back. When he spins to face me, his pale hair swings across frozen eyes.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he demands, expression dangerous.

I resist the urge to back away from the anger in his gaze. “Not exactly.”

“I don’t hate you,” Cillian hisses through his teeth. He advances on me slowly, pure violence in his expression. “But that doesn’t mean I want you here. My only job, the only thing I do that matters at all, is protecting Prince Logan.”

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