Dominic was very still now.
“I need to do the right thing,” I said.
Four stars for moral clarity. Zero stars for timing.
“I need to call him and tell him what I can tell him. I need to break up with him before I step into whatever this is with you.”
“Catalina.”
“No. I’m not finished.”
His mouth closed. Immediately.
“My body has been making decisions for me since the dining hall,” I said. “The bond has been making recommendations in a very loudvoice. And the other night, I let it take the wheel because you were saying things likeworshipat two in the morning.”
His mouth moved a quarter inch.
“Don’t smile at me right now.”
The almost-smile vanished.
Smart man.
“I want you,” I said.
There.
“I want you,” I said again. “But I’m not going to let wanting you be the same thing as choosing you. I’m going to make a real decision with my brain attached.”
He held the look. “Good.”
That wasn’t the answer I expected. “Good?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all you have?”
“No.” His hands flexed once at his sides. “I want to tell you that the decision is already made.”
The line drew taut and went hot. “Dominic.”
“I know.” His voice did not rise. “I want to tell you that the bond knows. That I know. That every instinct in me has known since the receiving hall. I want to tell you that the man in Washington is already a past-tense problem and that everyone in this compound can smell it.”
My breath caught.
His eyes sharpened. “But I will not.” The heat in the room didn’t lessen. “Because you told me not to.”
Past Tense
Catalina
Diplomatic protocol required the compound to provide an embassy contact line during protective confinement. Ashenmere had complied with exact obedience that made me trust it not at all.
The line was unmonitored by humans.
In theory, it was private.
I called Nate at three-twelve the next afternoon from the embassy line in the seventh-floor access alcove, very aware that every shifter within four hundred feet could probably hear enough to make privacy fictional.
