Page 24 of Ethan
Griffin nodded once, like that was all he had to say.
But the way he looked at me then, steady and measuring, told me something else. I had another chance. I hadn’t burned it all down. Not yet, and I wasn’t about to.
Chapter 6
Ethan
The door creaked open,and I glanced at the clock on the wall.
Right on time. Dean stepped inside, holding the usual cup of coffee.
His hair was a mess, and he looked drained. Had he already come back from training? His usual cocky grin was gone, replaced with something more subdued.
“You again,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Why am I not surprised?”
He didn’t respond, just walked over and held the coffee out to me.
For a moment, I stayed seated, crossing my arms as I stared him down. Was this really going to become a daily ritual?
Eventually, I sighed, standing up and taking the cup from his hand. The lid was warm under my fingers. I popped it off and inhaled. Coffee with a hint of chocolate.
I took a tentative sip. Not bad. Still a tad too sweet, but the balance was getting better.
Letting out a soft, satisfied sigh, I looked up to find Dean watching me.
He had this small, almost shy smile on his face, like he was waiting for my verdict. Heat pooled in my stomach, and I had to swallow hard.
I set the cup down on the desk. “What is it this time?” I asked, a bit too defensively. “Did you pick another fight with Griffin?”
Dean’s smile faltered, and a hurt flickered across his features.
“Why are you asking about Griffin?” he said, his voice tight with irritation. “I’m the injured one here.”
He lifted a finger toward me, and I followed his gaze. It was the same one with a papercut I’d healed yesterday, now gone, of course.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You didn’t need to come in for this. You’re fine.”
He shrugged, clearly brushing off my comment, and asked, “What did you think about the coffee?”
“Mm.” I took another sip, not willing to give him the satisfaction of admitting it was good.
That earned me a wide smile, one that made me pause. What was he so pleased about?
“Well,” he said, turning toward the door, “I’ll get out of your hair then.”
Dean had barely turned toward the door when the metallic tang hit me. It was subtle but unmistakable. Blood.
My wolf stirred, sharp and alert.
“Wait,” I called, rounding the counter and moving toward him.
He stopped, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”
“You’re bleeding somewhere,” I said, scanning him.
“No, I’m not,” Dean said, taking a step back.
I stepped closer, my hands hovering near his torso without making contact.
