I raise an eyebrow. Is he serious? He saw me carrying him out of here less than an hour ago. I glance round to find three curious sets of eyes watching me. Ahh, maybe this isn’t for his benefit. I don’t want to talk about Morgan, but I’m not the only one with something at stake here.
I glance at Callum, but his expression remains neutral.
Clearly whatever I’ve been doing isn’t working out well for anyone, but between leaving Morgan and coming here, there’s been fuck all time to think about it.
I do have one idea though.
It’s not something I ever thought I’d consider, and I’m pretty fucking sure no one around this table will like it. But I also think it’s the only way to convince Morgan that we’re not monsters and that him keeping our secret is a good thing for everyone involved.
It has to work, because there’s no way I can hurt him. Or let anyone else do it, so plan B isn’t an option. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself that it ever was.
I sit forward, and look around the table, meeting everyone’s gaze in turn. “So, hear me out first,” I start, and Cal groans. Flint laughs and Mal just covers his eyes. It makes me smile, and my wolf settles, because I know in that moment that they’ll have my back no matter what.
It’sabout an hour before dusk when I make my way back up to see Morgan. Corey already texted me that he’s awake and itching to get out of bed, so it’s the perfect time to put my plan into action.
After we have a little chat.
I pause in the doorway. Morgan hasn’t noticed me yet, too engrossed in a book that I’m assuming Corey gave him. I glance at the cover —Shifters: Myths, Legends & Facts—and only just manage to smother my snort. Apparently I don’t succeed because Morgan’s gaze snaps to mine.
“Something wrong?” He closes the book and places it face down on the bed next to him.
“Nope.” I nod to the book. “Want me to tell you what’s true and what’s bollocks?”
His eyes narrow. “Maybe another time.”
Fair enough. That’s not what I want to talk to him about anyway. A quick glance around the room confirms that we’re alone, so I take the seat next to him. “How are you feeling?”
He sighs and flops back against the pillows, gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Mortified.”
“Why?”
He faces me, eyebrows shooting up. “Really? I passed out, again. And since I ended up here, I’m assuming you had to carry me.” He closes his eyes, and says, “And I missed it,” so quietly, I’m convinced he’s forgotten that I can hear him. Then he flushes and groans.
Ahh, now he’s remembered.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He sighs again, the scents coming off him a mix of frustration and defeat, and I clasp my hands together to stop myself from reaching for him. “Nothing like this has never happened to me before.”
“Morgan—”
“Don’t, okay?” He sits up suddenly and messes with the pillows behind him until he’s happy with the way they’re lying. When he faces me again, his jaw has that familiar stubborn set to it. “I guess I’m not as great at dealing with all this as I thought I was.” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Turns out I’m not brave after all, just fucking scared.”
His words take me by surprise and piss me off a little. “One doesn’t negate the other.”
“What?”
“You have every right to be scared, to be fucking terrified. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t brave too.”
“I passed out. Twice.”
“You’ve just found out shifters are real and that you’re surrounded by them. Cut yourself some fucking slack.” I’m not sure who’s more surprised by my outburst: me or him. And I deserve every ounce of confusion on his face right now.
A few hours ago, I wanted him to be scared, wanted him to be terrified into keeping our secret for fear of the consequences. Or at least that’s what Ishould’vewanted.
But fear is the last thing I want to see when he looks at me.
I also need to be honest with him, even if it means that fear turning into something else.
“There might be a reason for your panic attacks, if that’s what they are.”
