I feel the exact moment when Morgan remembers all of the above. He pushes me off him, not hard enough to move me if I didn’t want him to, but I let my arms drop and step back.
His eyes meet mine. There are so many questions in them, so much curiosity, and part of me is desperate for him to ask. Ask me anything, because in that moment I’d tell him everything he wants to know. Wariness and fear drown them out the longer he stares at me, and in the end, he says nothing. Just turns and heads back inside.
Disappointment settles in my chest, heavy and unwelcome.
I don’t care if he backed down. That he was too fucking scared to face the truth Iknowhe’s realised. Or suspects.
I don’t even care that he doesn’t seem to remember that night at the back of the pub.
I don’t fucking care about any of it.
Or him.
Callum joins me a few seconds later when I still haven’t moved. “All right?”
I grunt in answer, because I don’t fucking know what just happened, let alone how I feel right now.
He knocks a shoulder against mine. “Corey said Morgan’s well enough to leave,” he murmurs. “Why did you ask him to stay?”
I can’t tell if he’s pissed off or curious, his tone annoyingly neutral. “I didn’t.” Not intentionally. It hadn’t occurred to me to tell him to go.
“You told him to go upstairs and rest.”
A glance behind him reveals everyone else has either gone inside or elsewhere. Doesn’t mean they aren’t still listening. “He almost fell over.”
“So?” Cal’s not saying it to be a dick, at least that’s not the whole reason. “He only needs to stay on his bike.”
His message is loud and clear. Morgan Webb isn’t our problem anymore. We patched him up, and thanks to Corey’s fortunate fuck-up, all evidence pointing to it being a shifter attack is almost gone.
Like Morgan should be.
“They could track him down.” I say this bit for Cal’s ears only. “You know what a sick fuck Birch is. If he attacked Morgan because he thought it’d piss me off, we’ve made it a hundred times worse by bringing Morgan back here.” I shove a hand in my hair, needing something to grip, to stop my hands from shaking as rage builds inside me. “If we send him out there now, we might as well hand deliver him to their compound and be fucking done with it.”
His only reaction is a raised eyebrow and it pisses me off even more. I know what he’s thinking because I should be thinking it too.
ButIremember what it’s like to hold Morgan my arms, to kiss him. Even if Morgan doesn’t.
“We don’t owe him anything.” Callum steps into my space and sets a hand on the base of my throat, dark eyes boring into mine. “As your VP, I’m advising you to kick him the fuck out and forget about him.” His fingers dig in a little as he rests his forehead against mine. “As yourbetaandfriend, tell me what you need, and we’ll make it happen. Fuck everything else.”
I close my eyes, greedy for the calm and the understanding he’s offering. I’m not the only one who walks a fine line between club and pack. Ishouldlet Morgan go, and Callum should fucking make me. As a club, we don’t need an outsider inour compound. As a pack, the last thing we need is ahumanamongst us, but we also never turn away the vulnerable or the outcasts. And that’s what Morgan is right now.
Because of me.
No matter how many times I tell myself otherwise, that they would’ve done it either way, the Feral Beasts did what they did because he had my scent on him.
But none of that fucking matters anyway.
Because deep down I know, and I’m pretty sure Callum suspects. The real reason I haven’t shoved Morgan onto that bike and told him to leave already?
He’smine.
The need to protect him claws at my insides every time I look at him. Every time I even think about sending him out there to fend for himself.
Even though he fucking hates me.
The feeling is there regardless, getting stronger the longer he’s here.
It’s not even been a week and I’m already on edge.
