Page 63 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

She blinks.

Then she says, her voice way too calm to be actually calm, “Kian, um, can you maybe take me to the Urgent Care clinic?”

I blink.

“What? Why? Are you hurt?”

Panic flares in my chest as I move toward her, but she lifts a hand like she’s conducting an invisible orchestra of nope.

“Actually, on second thought, the hospital might be better.”

Now I’m alarmed.

Full-body, ears ringing, pulse pounding, alarmed.

“Arliss! Where are you hurt?”

She doesn’t look hurt.

She looks like someone who's just seen a unicorn commit arson and isn’t sure if she should be amazed or dial 911.

“I’m not hurt, Kian.”

She swallows, eyes wild, voice shaking.

“I just, I think I might need an emergency psychiatric evaluation or, I don’t know, like ten thousand Xanax and maybe a support llama?”

And that’s when it hits me.

Oh. Shit.

This is my fault.

Completely.

Totally.

Disastrously my fault.

I need to start talking.

Now. Before she ends up in a padded room. Or worse, leaves.

“Arliss, you’re not crazy,” I say gently, ignoring the very loud, very obvious sounds of Dante tiptoeing, aka stomping like the giant fuck he is, out of the house with Rosie in his arms like this is some kind of naked Bear retreat.

I’ll get that furry bastard back later. With interest.

But right now?

I’ve got a wide-eyed, blanket-wrapped, post-orgasmic woman standing in my living room thinking she’s lost her damn mind.

My mate, who has no idea she’s my mate.

Who has no clue I’m a Shifter.

Who just watched a Bear turn into a man and a child screaming about just playing with goats and ducks and shit.

Fuuuuuuuck.

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