Page 16 of Altius
Which meant I had to reluctantly allot another point to my mate. Joaquin’s assessment that she’d tried to protect me from Garvey and his minions by scaring me off had been correct.
What was I supposed to do with the surreal giddiness coursing through my system?
My pulse had only just begun to slow down when Joaquin came into the room, drinking us in with deep breaths. The mere sight of my mate was enough to send my emotions spiraling once more.
Moments exactly like this—cooking, cuddling, talking—were what I wanted with the two of them. So, so badly.
If only she’d give me the chance.
“You smell delectable together.” Joaquin braced a hand against the back of the couch and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “And you lookverycomfortable.”
Afraid of disturbing Morgan, my answer was simple but effusive—eager nods and a foolish smile.
“Good.” Flashing the dimple on his left cheek, Joaquin demanded a thorough kiss. “Now, behave while I’m gone. Or don’t.”
Our bond was an electric current of salacious anticipation beneath my skin.
“I’ll be jealous either way.”
Four
Morgan
My internal clock woke me up at five-thirty on Sunday morning. It didn’t care that I was three days post-seizure. Or that I had a sore back, an aching head, and was dripping with sweat.
Hopefully, I’d overheated because of the shirtless Cal spooning my back and the cats bracketing my chest and thighs. Not because of any lingering hormonal issues.
The first few readings from the new hormone-tracking biosensor in my upper left arm, the Tabitha Redmond innovation that put Redwing BioTech on the map, were less than ideal. Better than at the hospital, but nothing Cal or I would consider stable. I could only hope things would even out in another day or two.
Unable to withstand the itch for normalcy—to move my body first thing in the morning—I extricated myself from the cuddle puddle, with whispered apologies to the cats, and relaxed into the thoughtless comfort of my workout routine.
I only made it halfway through my usual stretches before the room started spinning. I sat down against the wall, trying to catch my breath.
The door opened, and the overhead light clicked on. I narrowed my eyes at the intrusion.
“Knew I’d find you here.”
Wyatt, wearing his usual combo of sweatshirt and gym shorts, joined me in time-out, knees bent, bare calves twice the width of mine, veins prominent along the backs of his tense hands.
“I’m here to propose a truce.”
“We’re not sworn enemies, Wyatt.”
“But you’re wary of me, of what’s wrong with me—withus.”
He was being uncomfortably honest for someone hardwired to avoid conflict, which meant the situation was serious, thus eliminating any further attempts at deluding myself.
“Waning syndrome.”
“Yeah.” Wyatt’s sigh morphed into a grunt of disgust. “I get rut inhibitor shots every three months because it got too difficult to keep pretending. I didn’t enjoy it. Any of it. The haze never really kicked in, so it’s like I was… I was trapped outside my own body, looking in, wondering if it was all fake.”
His head dropped forward, long hair falling into his face, but not fast enough to hide his grimace, his hands fisting the edge of the mat.
“If I was broken somehow.”
My fingertips brushed against his sleeve, the fleeting contact in no way sufficient to relieve his pain.
“I maxed out my suppressants,” I admitted in a rough whisper, “to stop having heats for the same reason.”
