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Beckett hunkered down, watching the stranger through some bushes. Duncan had lowered to his haunches, too.
“I’m going to wait this out,” Beckett said. “It might take a while, so if you want to leave, I wouldn’t blame you.”
“I’m going to shift,” Duncan replied. “I’ll be able to scent things better.”
As Duncan shoved his clothes into the backpack then shifted, Beckett’s gaze never left the guy on the porch.
Just watching him made Beckett’s gut churn. He tried to force the thought out of his mind that the stranger was Santee’s lover. God, what if he was Santee’s husband?
Santee had said he wasn’t dating anyone when Beckett had found his mate in the woods, but what if he’d been lying?
Beckett forced the growl down. He didn’t want to think of anyone touching his little bunny. His cheetah wanted to spring across the distance and attack the bastard. It took every ounce of self-control to stay put.
Duncan, in his cheetah form, moved farther away from Beckett, prowling the forest, finally relaxing once he’d climbed a nearby tree and rested on the thick branch, his tail swishing.
As Beckett watched, the stranger stood and stretched, revealing a form-fitting T-shirt that showcased powerful shoulders and a tapered waist. He then disappeared into the house.
Thirty minutes passed, and Beckett started to feel frustrated. He’d nearly decided to knock on the front door when the back door opened and a slender figure stepped out. Beckett’s heart skipped a beat when he recognized Santee. His mate looked even smaller and more delicate than Beckett remembered.
And Santee was dressed. He had on a pair of faded blue jeans with a rip in one knee and a gray collared shirt. It was almost midnight. Couldn’t Santee sleep?
Beckett’s breath caught at the sight of Santee. His mate’s blond hair shone in the moonlight, and his blue-gray eyes sparkled as he looked around the backyard. Beckett ached to hold his mate, to make sure he was okay.
“Santee,” he whispered.
His mate’s head snapped around as he squinted, looking at the bushes Beckett was crouching behind. Beckett knew his mate had heard him. Preternatural had heightened senses.
With a worried expression, Santee looked at the back door before he hurried down the porch steps and straight to where Beckett was hiding.
When his mate was close enough, Beckett stood to his full height. He hated that he’d had to hide. He hated that he couldn’t have gone right to Santee’s door and asked for him.
But, once again, Bran’s words popped into Beckett’s mind. He had no idea what he was dealing with, so he’d erred on the side of caution.
“What’re you doing here?” Santee asked in a loud whisper.
“Why’d you take off?” Beckett countered. “You could have just told me you had to leave.”
“I…” Santee bit his lower lip as he looked back toward the house.
“Just answer me this,” Beckett said.
Santee pulled his attention back to Beckett. “What?”
“Are you involved with him?” His heart stopped beating and wouldn’t restart until Santee answered him.
“Who?” He scrunched his cute little nose.
“The guy I saw sitting on the back porch about half an hour ago.”
“Did he see you?” Panic seeped into Santee’s eyes. “Please tell me he didn’t see you.”
“He didn’t see me,” Beckett reassured his mate. “Who is he?”
Santee wrung his hands. “My brother.”
Relief made the tension in Beckett’s shoulders ease. The guy wasn’t Santee’s lover or husband, and Beckett wouldn’t have to commit murder tonight. “Then why are you acting so frightened if he’s your brother?”
“It’s…complicated.” Santee pressed his hands to Beckett’s chest, pushing him farther back into the forest. “You have to go.”
