Nick yelped. “What the fuck?”
Logan bit again, this time holding it, letting his scent embed deep. “You’re not alone.”
Nick twisted, kicked, actually landed a knee to Logan’s thigh. It hurt. Logan grinned. “There’s the attitude.”
“Fuck you. I said stop.”
“Make me.”
Nick lashed out with a fist, but Logan caught it with a laugh. “Feeling better now?”
He expected more anger. Instead, Nick collapsed into Logan’s arms, shaking so hard it rattled his bones.
A rush of emotion punched straight through Logan’s chest. He wrapped Nick up, cradling him, rocking them both without giving a shit who saw. “I’ve got you.”
Nick choked on a sob. “You don’t want this. Nobody wants this.”
“I want you. All of it. The shit parts, the weird parts, the baby.” Logan smoothed Nick’s hair, his knuckles gentle. “You’re not broken. You’re just…different.”
Nick’s head slammed into Logan’s shoulder as he hid his face. “I’m so fucking scared.”
Logan felt his own face contort. The urge to rip down the walls and run for the hills warred with the need to keep holding his mate, to fix what nobody else had ever tried to fix. “Me too.”
They sat there, tangled and raw, neither one saying anything for a long time. Logan waited for the next blow, half expecting Nick to try launching himself through the nearest window.
Instead, Nick clung tight enough to bruise, his fingers digging into Logan’s skin. He breathed fast, like he couldn’t get enough air.
“Is it always like this?” Nick finally whispered. “Bonding? It hurts. Fucks with your head.”
“That’s just us, sweetheart. We don’t do anything the easy way.”
Nick laughed, bitter and wild. “I might throw up.”
“Try not to get it on my shirt. I like this one.” Logan grinned, even though he felt like someone had scraped out his heart with a rusty spoon.
Nick’s body went limp. He melted, helpless, into Logan’s lap, boneless as a puppet with the strings cut. He didn’t protest when Logan lifted him, holding him tight as he carried him out of the room.
* * * *
Logan hauled Nick into his arms, not caring that his mate was all awkward elbows and deadweight. Tough luck. He could fight, cuss, or crack jokes, but Logan wasn’t putting him down until he stopped trembling.
Downstairs a few wolves watched from the den. He ignored them, shouldering through the entry and taking the stairs two at a time until they reached the guest room at the end of the hall.
Logan shouldered the door open and kicked it shut behind them then dropped onto the bed with Nick curled in his lap. Nick didn’t let go. Not at first.
Nick clung to his shirt, his fist wound tight in the fabric, his head buried under Logan’s jaw. His breath hitched roughly in his lungs. He wouldn’t look up, not even when Logan tipped his face gently.
“You’re safe,” Logan said, his voice low. “I’m right here. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
The words hung there until Nick finally exhaled, his body going slack. He lay in Logan’s arms, breathing hard, and then he tried to get up. No chance. Logan held him anchored long enough for his mate’s pulse to slowly lower from panic to just wary.
He loosened his grip, just enough for Nick to pull free if he really wanted it. Nick didn’t. He kept one hand tangled in Logan’s shirt, almost like he forgot it was there.
After a minute, Nick shoved himself upright then flopped backward on the bed, a hand over his eyes. He sucked another breath in, held it, then let it out like he was about to dive into shark-infested water.
Logan stretched out next to him, propped up on one elbow. “You good?”
Nick’s laugh barely made it out. “I don’t even know what that means anymore.”
