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Isaiah set his hands on his hips. “Did he try to persuade you to leave me?”
“No. He actually seems pissed off that the blinders are gone. I think that, while a part of him might have once been curious to know if I was right in what I once declared, he would rather not have known for sure.”
“Because then his mind wouldn’t play the what if game.”
She shrugged, seeming not to care either way. “Maybe.”
“What are his intentions?”
“He doesn’t have any. He doesn’t now want me. The only thing that really bothered him other than no longer having the bliss of ignorance is that I’ve entered an arranged mating with someone I barely know. He believes it won’t work out. I told him he was wrong and then left.”
Isaiah narrowed his eyes. “And how do you feel about all this?”
“Annoyed, mostly. What he did was super shitty. For all he knew, I was holding onto hope that I’d one day have him. He didn’t do me the courtesy of staying away just in case. And Nazra, his mate, is hardly going to like that he showed up if she hears about it. More, it isn’t fair to you that he did that.”
Nazra, his mate.
Those words smoothed over Isaiah’s hackles like warm syrup. They were so casually spoken—no bitterness or hurt had laced her tone. It had been a matter-of-fact remark. She didn’t view Zaire as hers in any sense.
Her head tilted. “You thought I’d, what, be all flattered and excited?”
“It would have been understandable if some part of you had felt hopeful that he’d walk away from her to pursue you.”
She frowned. “No part of me hopes that.”
“Yes, I’m getting that impression.”
“It’s not an impression. It’s a fact.” Quinley stared up at Isaiah, genuinely surprised at just how bugged he was by Zaire’s visit. Oh, she’d known he’d be pissed. Such a visit was bound to pluck at any possessive strings in Isaiah that had come to life after they branded each other. But she hadn’t expected him to get quite so wound up about it.
She also hadn’t thought he would worry that any part of her pined for Zaire. She’d been very clear that that wasn’t the case. He hadn’t seemed dubious at any point before now, so she’d assumed he’d taken her at her word.
Resolved that he’d have no doubts, she leaned forward and added, “Even if I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t want Zaire. I couldn’t accept him. Neither could my cat. Just as you couldn’t accept Lucinda now that she’s preg—” Quinley cut herself off at his flinch.
Her blood ran cold. Well, that explained why he doubted she’d fully let go of Zaire. He couldn’t imagine it was true because, despite his claims, he hadn’t been able to do the same with Lucinda. Ouch.
Logically speaking, it was understandable. But—stung at knowing that the male she’d claimed still hurt at being unable to have another woman—Quinley wasn’t feeling very understanding right then. Nor was her cat—a growl rumbled in the feline’s chest.
Quinley slowly pushed to her feet. “What I said was true, Isaiah. I can’t make you believe me. Maybe you will in time.” She began heading for the kitchen.
And a hand snapped around her wrist.
“Stop.” The order was low but firm, and there was a tender note in it that surprised her.
Grinding her teeth, she stayed still as Isaiah approached her left side and stepped fully into her space.
He placed his mouth near her ear. “You saw me flinch,” he began, his voice soft, “and you’re thinking I haven’t let her go. You’re wrong. I flinched because my cat dug his claws into me. He doesn’t like thinking of her pregnant—for him, it’s the ultimate betrayal.”
Oh.
Isaiah took her by the shoulder and gently turned her to face him. “Listen to me. It isn’t that I don’t believe you. I just wanted to be sure where your head is at.”
Quinley sighed, knowing she’d overreacted a little. The truth was that a lifetime of having to defend herself against false rumors meant she was too used to not being believed. When people who mattered to her doubted her word on something, it always hit harder than it needed to. Add that to her assumption of why he’d flinched and, yes, she’d clammed up.
“And yeah, what Zaire did is fucking with me a little,” Isaiah continued. “I don’t want him anywhere near you. My cat would like to slice his throat.”
Her brows knit in surprise. “I didn’t think your cat would be bothered.”
“Oh, he’s bothered. It’s part of why he reacted so badly when you brought up Lucinda’s present condition—he’s already agitated from Zaire’s behavior, and he wasn’t exactly calm before then thanks to the harpy eagle. Do you have the little shit’s cell phone number?”
