Tracing her fingers over the spines reverently, she only pauses in her musings when someone gets too close to the aisle we’re in, leaving her tense despite no one trying to strike up a conversation. Best part of the bookstore in this section? The cardinal rule for men not to make eye contact or acknowledge each other.
“Anything in particular catching your attention?”
She taps her foot nervously and I have to fight the urge to grab everything she shows an interest in. After an agonizingly long internal struggle, she snatches a book quickly from the shelf and crushes it to her chest.
“This one, I think,” she declares, seeming unsure, but like I’d lose an eye if I tried to pry it from her clutches.
“Perfect, then right this way.”
Instead of heading towards the register, I lead her to the back of the store. There’s a cluster of comfortable chairs in the open space, and a long table against the wall with dividers, sectioning off seats for individual studying. Dropping into the hardwood chair facing the wall closest to the lounge area, I flip open my sketchbook and dive back into my work, attempting to give her as much space as possible while still remaining close enough to ensure nothing happens.
Hesitantly, she slips into one of the overstuffed chairs, scanning her surroundings uneasily. It makes sense, her trepidation of getting lost in a book in such a public setting, but I’m hoping that she’s confident enough between herself and me watching over her to enjoy herself.
Frequently glancing at her from my peripherals, I continue to toy with designs before ultimately getting distracted. As time goes on she begins to relax a bit, folding her legs next to her on the oversized chair and leaning against one of the arms. She only ever reads a few pages before assessing her surroundings, but those brief moments where she allows herself to become completely immersed in the story? Seems to shave years off of her, making her seem like just any other girl in her early twenties.
Holy fuck, I don’t actually know how old she is. When’s her birthday? Damn it, I can’t ask. Not only would I look like an asshole for asking out of the blue, but what if she doesn’t actually know? Wait, she was a teenager before shit hit the fan; she’d know her birthday. Motherfucker, how do I casually bring that up?
Lost in my internal meltdown, I glance at my paper to see I’ve been absentmindedly sketching her instead. It’s rough, but still better than any of the ones I conjured during the year we were apart, and it evokes much better emotions this time. Only after I finish it up do I flip the page again, forcing myself to finally knock this project out so I can focus on far better things.
“Want to get out of here?” A male voice has my head jerking up, turning towards Saige who looks just as equally annoyed as I am. “No point staying cooped up inside on one of the last decent days of the year,” he finishes and I narrow my eyes at Nate, wondering what the hell he’s been smoking to pull something like this.
Running a hand over the back of his buzzed, dark hair, he chuckles nervously. He still has that stupid five-o-clock shadow, looking like a bum that can’t commit to a beard, much less a person. That person being my goddamnmate, who is eyeing Nate with blatant distaste.
“No thanks.” Saige doesn’t return to her book, unwilling to take her eyes off of the man. Subtly, she drops one hand to rest on top of her thigh closer to her pocket, holding her book in one hand with deceptive casualty.
Hadeon may be a decent place, but there’s always one asshole to spoil a good reputation, and Nate’s someone we’ve butted heads with on several occasions. I can’t imagine he’s here for any reason other than to try and stick it to us by attempting to seduce our mate away for bragging rights.
He obviously doesn’t know Saige though, because she’s the first person he should fear. She would have gutted Donovan if I hadn’t intervened, and he’s just a punk kid that doesn’t know when to shut up. Some random, smug bastard? No way in hell.
“Let’s be real here,” he purrs, leaning his hip against her chair. “There has to be some reason you haven’t mated the clones after this much time. Having second thoughts?”
Running my tongue over my teeth, I fight to remain seated and appear unfazed. Nothing pisses Nate off worse than when we barely acknowledge he exists, but right now, I’m beyond tempted to drive a fist into his face. Saige glances at me quickly, but I’m not sure what she’s searching for; assurance she isn’t alone, or hoping that I’ll handle it?
Pretty good chance I’m going to make the wrong call here with the way today’s been going, but I let my anger have too much control, rising to my feet. “Secondandthird thoughts.” I shake my head, feigning being put out. “And still, none of those thoughts had her showing up at your doorstep. Weird, right?”
His nostrils flare, but he tries to save face, laughing it off. “Always a delight, Kinsley.” He turns to face Saige, but doesn’t give me more than his side, unable to fake nonchalance well. “They’ve kept you pretty under lock and key since showing up here. Of all the houses in Hadeon, I’d imagine a female would seek refuge with the dragons that wouldn’t pose a threat, already mated and with another girl around. So why is it, I wonder, that you ended up with the triplets?” He taps a finger to his chin, watching the way her hand tightens on her book and grinning as he gets a reaction, figuring he’s onto something.
“Why flee straight for their house then refuse to set foot into town for who knows how long? Why would you think you’d be safe in a house with three strange men, yet scared of everyone else, unless you already knew them?” he finishes, grinning to himself as Saige pales.
Rather than let him continue to get off on himself, she uses her foot to push him back a step and stretches out casually to lounge across the arms of the chair. “Bold of you to assume that one, I owe you any sort of explanation when I don’t even know you. And two, that I went to their house first.” She lifts her book, equivocally disregarding him as anyone worth interest.
His jaw ticks as she pretends to go back to reading, and I commend her for how difficult it must be to pull that off when her instincts are on high alert. “What other reason is there?” he demands, his voice growing like he’s trying to draw a crowd.
“Wow, Kins,” she states, glancing up at me over the top of her book. “The entitlement men have going on in this town is on par with Savos. And here I thought only the major coastal cities ran on audacity.”
“Nate,” I warn, giving up all pretense of veiling my anger. “Go home. You know damn well that shit’s hard for women these days. You really want to be the jackass that makes her relive what she went through in the middle of the damn bookstore? And for what? A reason for why she doesn’t give you the time of day? Hate to tell you, mate, but it’s got nothing to do with her not wanting to parade through town; she’s met plenty of men in Hadeon since Halloween. You’re just annoying.”
There’s a snort of laughter that someone tries to cover with a cough, but I don’t tear my gaze away from Nate to find out who it was. We’ve drawn the attention of about ten other people, and honestly, Nate isn’t anyone’s best friend. If it came down to an actual fight, I have no doubt that he’d lose, and hopefully he’s aware of that too and saves us all the effort.
“Kins,” Saige pleads, and the worry in her tone has me looking her way instantly. Her eyes are wide and she’s zipping her jacket hastily, like that will be enough to keep her wings contained. “Bathroom?”
Completely disregarding Nate, I grab her hand and bolt through the stacks without question, shoving the door open and dragging her inside as she hisses in pain. Slamming the door shut behind us I flip the lock, quickly checking the stalls to make sure we’re alone.
She manages to fumble her jacket off in time, dropping it on the floor, but the back of her shirt rips as her wings tear through. Clutching the sink, she doubles over with a strangled gasp, heaving up water and sputtering. Anxious, I rub my hand up and down her arm, murmuring soothing words and feeling so goddamn helpless.
Her face tints purple, still choking and struggling to breathe. Her claws extend, making a gods-awful noise as they drag against the sink. A whimper slips from her throat that makes me drive a fist into the wall just for some sort of outlet, still keyed up from the bullshit with Nate. My worry morphs into frustrated rage, having a front row seat to her suffering and unable to do a damn thing about it.
“I’m okay,” she finally gasps, sucking down heaving breaths for a few moments before a scream tears from her still purple lips. She bites her fist to muffle the sound until drawing blood, face pinched with pain as she white-knuckles the lip of the sink for support with her other hand.
