Page 25 of Midnight Mate
He frowned. “I didn’t want to risk hurting you.”
I squeezed his hand, inexplicably needing to comfort him. “You didn’t.”
At least, not physically.
“You’re the only girl I ever told,” he said after a moment.
I looked over in surprise. Maybe I shouldn’t have been shocked he’d held back that part of himself. People in this town knew enough to at least accept the idea of supernaturals, but the rest of the world had no idea. Still, it sounded lonely, knowing he hadn’t been able to truly be himself in a decade. “Well, I’ve kept your secret. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Thanks.” His smile was sad. His gaze far away now. Still troubled. Or tortured. “What I meant is you’re special, Cat. Always were. Seeing you here again is a reminder of that.”
My belly jumped at his words. As much as I wanted to hear them, I knew I couldn’t let us go down this road. “Look, East, I think you and I—”
“Cat?”
I cringed at the sound of my name coming from behind us. Or, more specifically, at who said it. Fleetingly, I wondered if I could just pretend not to have heard. But East was already turning. And then, my name came again.
“Cat.”
Louder this time. Determined. No avoiding it now.
I turned, bracing myself as Travis strode up.
“What do you want, Travis?”
“I went by your office,” he said, his tone accusatory. “They said you took the morning off.”
“I’m with a patient,” I said simply.
Travis’s sharp gaze flicked to Easton and then straight down to our joined hands. His eyes narrowed.
East’s hand in mine tightened.
Great. A pissing contest.
But I didn’t pull my hand away. Not when doing so would feel like an admission of guilt.
“Can we talk?” Travis asked, ignoring East completely.
“I think we’ve said everything there is to say.”
“I disagree.” His voice took on an edge that reminded me of that night.
My hands went clammy at the memory of the vase he’d sent flying at my head. Then Travis’s face as it’d twisted in fury. When I’d screamed at him to get out, he’d begun to tremble. His skin had turned to fur in patches. And his hands had grown claws.
Then he’d—
“Listen, I think the lady’s made it clear she doesn’t want to speak to you.” Easton’s voice was a calm, controlled warning.
Underneath, I could hear the steel.
Travis glared at him. “The lady can speak for herself.”
“And she did,” Easton said. “You just aren’t very good at listening.”
“Who the fuck are you, anyway?”
“I told you. He’s my patient,” I cut in.
