I scrub my hands over my face, hoping I can wipe the intensity of this morning away. Maybe I should pour whiskey in my coffee? Too bad I don’t have any in the apartment.
“I’d say they bought it,” Brexley says, watching me closely.
I scowl at him. “You don’t understand. Goldie is a heat seeking missile. That was only the beginning of the interrogation. Tonight will be even worse.”
“While I don’t love questions, I can handle her. And Goldie seems like a useful ally. Being able to stay near you in the bar is for the best. By the way, have you heard from your grandma yet?”
My brain started to spiral into the possibility of another Ogre attacking the bar, but I redirect to my phone, checking it for the hundredth time today. “Not yet.”
I pick up the empty snack cake box with Gigi’s smiling face on the front of it. My heart sinks into my stomach. Where is she? Why are mages and fae coming after me? Is this still over one of Gigi’s recipes?
I thought we’d done a stellar job of keeping my relationship to her under wraps, but I guess showing up at one of her houses made me a target.
“Does it bother you?” Brexley asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“Seeing her face everywhere?”
The box is still in my hand, and I realize I’ve been staring at it. I shrug one shoulder. “I’ve always been proud of Gigi, but yeah. It’s a constant reminder of what a disappointment I am.”
“Your grandma told you that?”
I shake my head. “No, but I know it’s true. Life as a mage is all about ability, family, honor, and legacy. Without power, you are nothing. And everyone will make sure you know exactly where you stand on the hierarchy. If you try to step out of line or work your way up, the smackdown is usually swift, and often violent. Though it doesn’t stop mages from trying.”
I gesture to the television where Everett Silber floats a bevy of red roses around an attractive black man who now has a seductive glint in his eye. Everett may achieve short-term celebrity, but no one above his station will see it as an impressive enough feat to mingle in their social circles. At most, he would be considered an amusing dog they’d invite to a party or two.
Setting the box aside, I sit up straighter. “And while I want nothing to do with those people, I feel I don’t belong with my own flesh and blood and that just . . . sucks.”
When I finally lock eyes with Brexley, he looks at me with such intensity I fear my skin is liable to catch fire.
“What?” the question comes out breathy. It’s as if he’s sucked out all the air in the room, his presence consuming my small apartment. I’m frozen to the seat, scared to move, scared to breathe.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he says.
My sandpaper tongue tries to moisten my suddenly dry lips.
Were you exiled from your pack?
I saved him from answering the question, but I want to hear him answer the question now, even more than Goldie did.
Hunger, rage, and pain shine out from his face. Brexley knows exactly what I mean.
Suddenly I don’t need him to answer. I know with absolute certainty that’s what happened.
But now what I want to know even more is, if so few Weres survive the separation, how did he?
While Brexley’s eyes share the answer to the first question, they forbid any further prying. I’m pinned to the spot on the couch. Though we’re relating now, he’s on the verge of the storm of disappointment and pain wrapped up in his past. I’m certain if I try to push him, he’ll leap on me and tear out my jugular.
Honestly, I’m no different. I’d do anything to protect this life I built to keep it separate from my past, keep it separate from magic.
Needing to break the intensity, I clear my throat and retreat to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. Once it’s closed, I rest my back against it, assuring myself of the physical barrier between us. When Brexley is near me, I feel so exposed, and far too connected to someone I only just met.
A flash of Brexley’s naked body slams into the front of my brain like a sledgehammer. In high definition, there he is again, panting, his naked chest and shoulders heaving as he drills into me. Power and strength line every last bit of him as he drives me to places I’ve only dreamed of.
But then, like switching cameras, I remember when he found me trapped under the ogre’s hand. Worry and concern lined his face, like he cared about me.
I’m an idiot. This is exactly how I got so fucked up with Hunter. Making stuff up, because it’s what I want to see. I refuse to fall victim to my own delusions again. I close my eyes and give myself a little silent jolt.
