“With the fight ring,” I finish for him, when it looks like he isn’t going to. “You already know Nico told me all about it. No point pretending otherwise.”
He crosses his arms, muscles bunching under his T-shirt and maybe I shouldn’t still find him attractive, all things considered, but of course I do. My bad-boy weakness is alive and kicking, even with the threat of death hanging over me.
“No, I suppose there isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to tell you things that don’t concern you.”
Ouch.
“Fine.” I try not to let it affect me, but it stings anyway. I thought we were having a moment.
Idiot.
“Look.” Lynx rubs his jaw, rough with stubble. “Let’s?—”
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“This.” I wave a hand between us. “Giving me the chance to prove myself, or whatever the fuck it is we’re doing here.”
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Careful.”
Maybe I’m the one lacking self-preservation now, but I’m tired and pissed off, and I just want to go home.
Which I don’t fucking have anymore.
And like someone’s pulled the plug, the ire drains out of me. I slide into one of the chairs around the table, head dropping into my hands.
“Why did you take me to meet Beth?” I ask softly. Hoping he’ll give me an answer this time.
His face gives nothing away as he watches me. Then he sighs, cursing under his breath. “Because despite what you might think, or the rumours you’ve no doubt heard, I wanted to show you that my pack aren’t mindless killers.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No,” he growls, and the hairs on my arms stand up.
“But you do kill.” I look up at him and see the answer in his eyes.
“Yes.” He stalks closer and sets his hands on the table, gaze fierce as it locks with mine. “But we wouldneverattack an innocent human and leave them for dead in the middle of a fucking forest.”
Like Birch and the others did.
I flinch, memories hitting me from all sides that I don’t have a chance of stopping.
Hot, rancid breath.
Teeth and claws, sharp and deadly.
And pain.
So much fucking pain, I gasp like I can still feel claws raking across my skin.
“Morgan.”
Darkness edges my vision, my heart hammering deafeningly loud.
“Morgan.”
I grip the edge of the table, fingers straining with the effort as I try and ground myself in the solidness of the wood.
