Not wishing to intrude but also physically unable to walk away from my mate when he was in need, I did thenextlogical thing.
I unleashed a few tendrils to slip through the cracks and investigate.
Strange…
For how long he’d been in the bathroom, I’d assumed Micah would have showered, but he still smelled like sex—likeme.While this pleased me on a primal level, it was uncharacteristic behavior from my fastidious mate. Stranger still was that he seemed to be simply standing in place, most likely facing the small mirror above the sink—since there was nowhere else to go—staring into it.
Radiatinghurt.
Oh fuck…
Dozens of tendrils emerged as my protective instincts went haywire. This was followed by a nearly suffocating wave of panic as I wondered whether the threat here wasn’t skinsuit-specific, butme.
What if Ididinjure him?
Why didn’t he use his safe word?
What if he’s crying again?!
“Just come in, Zig. The door’s unlocked.”
The words had barely registered before I was flinging open the door and crowding into the small space along with him.
“What’s wrong?!” I barked, louder than I intended, my gaze immediately dropping to the way his hand was pulling aside the collar of his shirt—exposing the fresh bite marks on his neck and shoulder.
Marks I’d put there.
Fuck, fuck, fuck…
“You changed your skinsuit?” he murmured, releasing his shirt and eyeing me as well. “I thought you were wearing the Borque because the fur would protect you from the elements.”
You are the one who needs protecting.
“I decided to change into something with fewer…teeth,”I gritted out, wondering why he wasn’t simply answering my question. “Something lessthreatening.”
“Oh, okay.” He turned back to the mirror and absently rubbed his neck. “If that’s what you think is best.”
“I do,” I replied, still watching him closely, subtly tasting the air around him with hair-thin tendrils, desperate for clues.
Micah’s gaze lifted to track the movement in the mirror’s reflection, even though he shouldn’t have been able to see me move at all.
“Is there a problem, Zig?” he asked, turning to face me again with a furrowed brow and clear annoyance.
“You tell me,” I snapped, the instinct to connect with him—to claim him—clawing beneath my stolen skin.
No, Ziggy.
This is what got you into this mess in the first place.
He huffed. “I just want to know why you’re clocking me instead of communicating. If you wanna talk about something, thentalk.”
While this blunt way of speaking was one of the countless reasons I admired my stellar collision, all I could focus on at the moment was howon edgeMicah sounded, how he was still emanating distress.
“Very well… I could possibly use the piece of my core inside you to fix the marks on your neck—to heal them faster.” The words were tumbling out of me, with no hope of stopping them, and Micah’s eyes widened as my sorry attempts at a solution continued. “It might require me puttingmoreof myself inside you, but it would only be temporary.”
“What the heck are you talking about?” Micah scoffed. “Why would I want toerasethe marks you gave me?”
“Because I hurt you!” I shouted, my tendrils undulated awkwardly in the cramped space. “Because I have failed at controlling the urge to mark you as my mate. You can’t hide from me, Micah. I canfeelyour distress now, just like I could feel it last night after I…” My horrified gaze dropped to his lower half. “Unless it’s elsewhere you’re hurt…”
