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“You really didn’t know about her plans to enter an arranged mating, though,” Isaiah mused. “My guess is that your sources kept it from you—probably at the bidding of Nazra, who worried you’d otherwise put a stop to it.” He slanted his head. “She was right to worry, wasn’t she? You would have stopped it.”
Zaire ground his teeth. “I wouldn’t have wanted Quinley to bind herself to a stranger, so I would have found her a different mate.”
Isaiah snorted. “You couldn’t even bring yourself to stop monitoring her. How could you have given her to another male? You definitely wouldn’t have consented to her leaving the pride. It would have suited you and your cat to feel that you had some control over her. You hate that you don’t. You hate that I have her. But what you hate more is that you have everything you thought you ever wanted… and it still feels like something’s missing. Which, you’ve come to realize, is Quinley. You’re here to vent all your shit on me.”
“No—”
“I’d warned you last time you showed up here that I’d take your return as a challenge, so you were banking on me attacking you instantly. Your mistake was in thinking that I wouldn’t pick up on it.”
“I’m here because I need the dreams to stop,” Zaire burst out. “That’s what happens when I fight any urge to see her, or I know she’s in danger. I dream about her.” He paused, his eyes narrowing perceptively. “You know what that’s like.”
“Yeah, I do. It sucks. But it doesn’t change that you have no right to be here.”
Hearing the dick claim that Quinley featured in his dreams, it was hard for Isaiah not to lunge forward and claw the fucker’s face right off his skull. The only thing that stayed Isaiah’s hand was knowing it would give Zaire the reaction he wanted. Why else admit to a man that you dreamed of their mate?
A shuffling sound came from his left. Isaiah looked to see Quinley’s cat edging out from under a car. He tensed, not wanting her to be exposed to this.
He expected her to snarl at Zaire or swipe out a paw in warning, but she didn’t. She deigned the guy with a disinterested look and padded over to Isaiah. She then scrabbled up his side to settle on his shoulder like she belonged there, paying the Alpha zero attention.
It hit Isaiah, then. Hit him hard. Right in the chest. And it was the best kind of punch. Because it was apparent that she felt no need to warn Zaire away since, as far as she was concerned, he presented no threat to her and Isaiah’s bond.
His raging cat ceased pacing, soothed by just how much she evidently trusted that the connection they were building couldn’t be sabotaged. It settled something in Isaiah as well, making some of the tension leach from his shoulders.
He reached up to stroke her head, his eyes on Zaire; watching the emotions that drifted across the Alpha’s face. Pain. Jealousy. Anger. Conflict. Resentment.
The thing was… those feelings weren’t really about Quinley as a person. They were visceral reactions; came from the elemental heart of Zaire and his inner cat, not from their emotional heart.
Her little feline continued to pay the guy zero interest. She was all about scent-marking Isaiah, rubbing the side of her neck against his head.
Zaire’s gaze flicked back to his. “My cat was like that with Nazra in the beginning. Not so much now. That’s how it goes with imprinting.” It was a taunt.
“Only when the bond becomes brittle. That won’t happen with me and Quinley. And if you had put all your focus on Nazra instead of selfishly keeping tabs on Quinley, it might never have happened to your bond. Maybe you could fix it—I don’t know. Don’t care. I’m done here.”
“But—”
“Admit it or don’t, but we both know you came in the hope of provoking me into starting a fight. I’m not going to give you that. I’m not going to give you any damn thing.” Not even his cat, despite how much he’d enjoy mauling this son of a bitch, would grant him any such satisfaction. “You can either challenge me, or you can get the fuck out of here.”
Zaire wanted to challenge him. It was evident in his expression and body language. He wanted to give his inner animal the release it desperately sought; wanted to punish Isaiah for claiming Quinley.
The male’s gaze again bounced to her cat, who’d tucked herself into the crook of Isaiah’s neck—something she occasionally did at home to nap. She was purring, content. And something about it made the anger in Zaire’s gaze fade, only to be rapidly replaced by pure turmoil.
“Do you see how settled she is right there?” Havana asked the Crimson Alpha, sidling up to Tate. “There you are, fronting off against her mate. But she’s not pacing and hissing or tense as a bow. She’s perfectly relaxed, trusting that he’ll protect them both if necessary.”
Zaire slowly swerved his head to look at the devil shifter.
“To her, he’s her mate and you are quite literally irrelevant,” Havana bluntly stated. “Fighting with Isaiah won’t make you relevant to her. Nothing you do would mean anything to that cat. You rejected her, you turned your back on her, you did nothing to protect her when she needed protection, and you went and claimed another female.”
“I know what I did,” Zaire gritted out.
“It’s like Isaiah said before,” Tate cut in. “You hate him for having her, but you hate more that the choices you made years ago didn’t bring you the contentment you were sure they would. Do you really want to make Quinley pay for that?”
Zaire glared at him. “I’m not making her pay for anything.”
Havana cast him a Come on look. “Dude, you’re stood here trying to goad her mate into a public brawl. How can you think that won’t impact her? You can sense that they’re imprinting on each other, so you know she cares for him. If you were to hurt him, it would hurt her. Haven’t you done enough of that?”
Zaire averted his gaze again, swallowing hard.
“Go,” said Isaiah, pulling the black-foot’s attention back to him. “There’s nothing for you here. You won’t get a duel, you won’t get contact with Quinley, and you won’t have a shot at fixing your bond with Nazra unless you move on.”
