No, a corner of her heart whispered. She should probably tell her heart to shut up.
“What is it?” Malachi said.
“Nothing I want to talk about.”
His mouth remained tight for a moment, but he didn’t push her. They managed to recapture the ease, though they didn’t talk much for the rest of the meal. After dinner, she told him good night and went to the bedroom. The new knob was burnished bronze, matching the finish of the old one. The moment she shut the door behind her, she turned the lock.
Inside she found her soiled clothes in a nylon laundry bag in one corner, everything Kelsey had brought in another corner. She changed into a sleep tank and shorts, then crawled under the covers and drew them up to her chin. Cover up. All the way. She stared at the door, and her pulse kicked up. He could smash through it, rip it off its hinges…
She got out of bed and ran to the door. She checked the lock. Checked it again. Pressed her thumb against it until it left a deep impression in her skin. Malachi was locked out of this room. With a lock he had installed himself.
Safe.She climbed back into bed, her finger pressed to the indentation in her thumb.Safe.
Eight
Malachisprangupfromthe couch, every fiber of his body taut and awake. April had cried out in her sleep and awakened gasping. He rushed to the bedroom door and stood there a moment while a hot poker seared his guts. She began to sob.
“April,” he said.
She screamed.
The searing intensified. He pressed his hands to the locked door and held his body still, though everything in him wanted, needed, to get into the room.Protect my mate!Strain rippled through his shoulders and down his arms. He stayed quiet, willed her breathing to slow and her distress to lift. A long minute passed, and she continued to cry.
He had to try again. He couldn’t stand here listening to her pain without breaking the lock. The promise.
“April, it’s Malachi.”
“M-M-Malachi.”
“I won’t come in. I’ll stay here.”
“No, no, please.”
She wanted him to go? He couldn’t. Not while she cried, not while fear smothered her essence until the sweet citrus was nearly gone. He rested his forehead against the door. He must not charge through it. This was as close as he could be. He buried a growl of frustration and helplessness.
Ten minutes passed. Her panic lifted slowly, and her signature scent grew strong again. Another ten minutes, and her sobbing ceased. Her breathing deepened, but she wasn’t asleep. Two bare feet touched the floor beside the bed, and she padded to the door and set her hand there.
“Malachi?” she whispered.
“I’m here,” he said.
“Oh, you—you didn’t go.”
He couldn’t respond. His wolf heart was heavy, his body straining toward her though the door separated them. He had managed not to break anything. The feat of restraint had tested his limits.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” she said, her voice hoarse from crying.
“It’s all right. Can I do anything for you?”
“N-no, please—please don’t come in.”
“I can’t come in,” he said quietly. “The door is locked.”
She gave a little broken sound, and her palm slid down the surface of the door as she dropped to her knees. Malachi knelt too, set his palm against the place hers had stopped.
“I had a nightmare,” she whispered, like a little girl seeking comfort.
“I’m sorry.”
