Page 7 of Brody
Over twenty years of Special Forces missions, of facing death without flinching, of building a life and business from nothing, and now I was being brought to my knees by the sight of a five-foot-four woman with fire in her expression and a deeply entrenched grudge.The irony would be amusing if it weren’t so damn terrifying.
If she left the Ridge without?—
No.I couldn’t think about that.Not when the tremors were getting worse, not when the line between man and wolf grew thinner with each passing day.Not when I’d found myself waking in the forest three times this week with no memory of shifting or running through the night.
I might have abandoned Rozi once, but this time would be different.This time, I wouldn’t let her go.
Because this time, my life quite literally depended on it.And so did the lives of every unmated male in Black Forest Ridge.
CHAPTER3
ROZI
A little over thirty minutes drifted by without a word between us.Thank goodness.One moment, heat crawled up my neck as memories of Kenya flashed unbidden.The next, ice flooded my veins when I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, focusing on the physical pain rather than the storm raging inside me.Anything to keep from screaming or, worse, crying in front of him.
Each minute in his presence felt like sandpaper against my nerves, wearing down the carefully constructed walls I’d built over two and a half decades.My feline half kept prowling restlessly beneath my skin, purring whenever his fragrance drifted toward me.
Traitor, I hissed at her silently.
She merely flicked her metaphorical tail and continued her contented rumbling.
I shifted in my seat, his aroma of sandalwood, citrus, and male musk making it increasingly difficult for me to concentrate on updates I was making to my presentation.The confined space of the SUV had become a torture chamber of sensory overload.Each breath filled my lungs with his distinctive essence, triggering memories I’d spent decades trying to forget.The leather seat creaked beneath me as I shifted again, desperate to find a position where his presence didn’t dominate my every thought.No such luck.
“If you’re thirsty, there’s a bottle of water in the door compartment back there,” he said for the second time.
Ignoring him, I continued typing on my laptop.
What a fucking asshole.
How dare he act like what he did to me was no biggie?
His dismissal had left me hunched over my journal in that Kenyan tent, frantically scribbling theories.
Subject rejected mate bond upon visual confirmation.
Hypothesis:
Physical appearance unsatisfactory?
Voice too assertive?
Intelligence intimidating?
I’d cataloged every perceived flaw with clinical precision, searching for the fatal defect that made even a destined mate turn away from me.
At night, I’d pressed my fist against my sternum, trying to ease the physical ache where something vital had been ripped away.The emotional wound had scarred over eventually, but it stung now with renewed pain, as if his proximity were ripping open old tissue.
Being rejected by a fated mate rarely happened in the shifter world, yet it had happened to me.One conversation with me and that fucker exited left.
After that kind of wound, it took me years to rebuild my confidence, and now, at forty-three years old, reuniting with him again was like a horror movie, starring me.
My fingers trembled against my laptop keys, betraying the calm I fought to project.I couldn’t even roll down the window without seeming affected by him.
My throat constricted as if invisible hands were tightening around it.The claustrophobia of being caged with the one person who’d taught me the cruelest lesson of all, that even the universe’s so-called perfect match saw everything I was and decided I wasn’t worth the trouble of staying.And deep down, that simple truth hurt like a motherfucker.
“Rozi…” he began.
