My throat tightens. “I won’t.”
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment he opened the door to the rental where I’d been held by Silas.
Then he gets out and comes around to my side. He unbuckles my seatbelt and scoops me up again, like he’s decided gravity no longer applies to me.
“Sebastian, I can walk,” I protest, mostly because I need to hear him argue.
“No.”
He shuts the door with his foot and carries me toward the door.
Drew stands there. He looks… wrecked. Pale. Bloodshot eyes. Hair messed up like he’s been dragging his hands through it for hours. His mouth opens like he has something to say, but then he sees me in Sebastian’s arms, and the words die.
Mr. Pickles appears, tail whipping like a possessed metronome. He lets out a sound that is not a meow. It’s more like a threat.
Sebastian ignores it.
“Hey,” Drew says hoarsely.
Mr. Pickles darts between his legs like a shadow and then immediately turns on him. He hisses. Not a cute hiss, either. This one has intent.
Drew flinches. “Jesus Christ.” He laughs, but the sound is shaky. His eyes are too bright.
Mr. Pickles bats his pant leg.
Drew jumps back. “Ow—okay—okay, I get it, Satan.”
Mr. Pickles hisses again, louder, and then plants himself on the mat like a guard dog who weighs four pounds and believes in violence.
Sebastian steps over him without breaking stride.
Drew’s gaze flicks from me to Sebastian. “Is she okay?”
Sebastian’s voice is controlled, but there’s a tremor beneath it. “She’ll be fine.”
The way he says it makes my stomach twist. The defeat in his voice is palpable. Like he should’ve prevented Silas from getting anywhere near me.
Drew swallows hard. “Yeah.”
I exchange a look with Drew over Sebastian’s shoulder. I see it in his eyes. There’s something in Sebastian’s past he hasn’t told me about. And what happened to me has brought it to the surface.
Mr. Pickles growls. I can’t help but grin. Maybe I should change his name to Sebastian Jr.
“He’s protective,” I say, because I’m still angry and shaky and something inside me is starving for control. “He’s doing his job.”
Drew gives a weak laugh that dies too fast. “Right. Guard cat.”
Mr. Pickles bats him again, like he approves of the title and disapproves of Drew.
Sebastian carries me straight through the living room, past the couch, and up the stairs to his bedroom.
He pushes the door open with his shoulder, a slight wince on his face, and lays me down on the bed like I’m something precious.
Then he steps back, staring at me like he can’t believe I’m here. Like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he doesn’t keep his eyes on me.
I reach for his hand. He takes it instantly.
Mr. Pickles follows us in, jumps onto the bed, circles twice, and settles on my chest. Possessive. Heavy. Warm.
