The word ripples through the group, but I keep my chin up, and my expression neutral.
Then Bodhi looks up.
Our eyes meet through the flames, and everything else disappears. The crowd, the music, the blonde with her possessive hands. There's only him, staring at me like I'm a ghost.
The bottle cracks in his hand, beer foaming around his fingers. He doesn't seem to notice.
Emma. I see my name form on his lips.
The blonde tugs at his arm, but he's already moving, cutting through the crowd with long strides. People step out of his way without being asked.
When he stops in front of me, close enough to touch, the bond pulls so hard, I can barely breathe.
"What…? You’re here." His voice is rough.
"Clearly." I keep my voice cool. "Though I’m starting to understand why you didn’t want me to come.”
His brow furrows. "Emma…"
"Who is she?"
The question comes out sharper than I intended.
His eyes widen then darken, feeling the ugly jealousy that’s burning inside me.
"Shanna. She's an old friend." In the firelight, his eyes blaze, just like his mood.
"She looks like more than a friend." I can’t keep the bitter tone from my voice as my cheeks burn with embarrassment at having arrived and caught him looking perfectly happy without me.
A growl rumbles from his chest. Through the bond, I feel his frustration mixing with something hotter. He likes it. He has the nerve to enjoy my anger.
"I was worried about you." I continue, unable to stop the words coming, not letting him interrupt. "But it seems I didn't need to be. Because here you are, partying, looking like you haven't got a care in the world. Certainly not losing any sleep over leaving me behind right when I needed you."
Several people shift uncomfortably. Whispers ripple through the crowd. I'm aware of every eye on us, but I refuse to look away from him first.
I straighten my spine and lift my chin.
"Forget it. This was clearly a mistake."
I turn toward the darkness, keeping my shoulders square and my stride even.
"Emma, wait."
His hand catches my arm. The contact ignites something desperate in my cells. Heat races along every nerve, the mate bond latching onto him with painful relief. My lungs remember how to fully expand. I clench my jaw against the broken sound that wants to escape.
Because I'm still pissed off at him.
"Let go," I say quietly.
"Not until you let me explain. Please. Just, not out here."
I could pull away, but the bond is singing now, flooding me with warmth after days of nothing but a dull ache.
"Fine.” I huff. “But then I'm leaving."
“I’ll drive you back myself.”
He doesn't steer me, just points in one direction and walks beside me toward a cabin that sits apart from the others, windows dark. We step inside to find a stone fireplace dominating one wall, with no fire. Maps are tacked to another wall, marking apparent boundary lines. He gestures to a couch that's seen better days, then retreats to the far wall.
