Page 96 of Crashing Tides

“Worth it,” he says, shrugging. “How the hell else was I supposed to save you?”

“You could’ve called the cops,” I suggest, only partly-joking.

But he shakes his head. “It would’ve taken too long to find you.”

My hand inches toward his. When I’m close enough, I intertwine our fingers. He allows it, runs an absentminded thumb over my knuckle.

We’re silent a long time. Thousands of questions ping-pong around inside my skull, but one is at the forefront. “You called me your mate,” I say, squeezing his hand. “What does that mean?”

The color drains from his face. He groans, tips his head back, then looks at me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You were right to be pissed off. I should’ve told you sooner.”

I’m tired enough to fall asleep in this pile of laundry, but I’m determined to get an answer, so I force my eyes open. “I don’t understand.”

“I—” He drags his fingers down his face. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured, or like—like you didn’t have a choice. I wanted it to be organic, but I-I guess I should’ve told you.”

“Told me what?” I demand, propping myself up on my elbows so that I can glare at him more efficiently, even though the movement hurts my ribs.

He gestures helplessly with his free hand. “That you’re my—my…” He closes his eyes, then opens them. Leans against the wall with a thud. “You’re my fated mate.”

I spend a long moment staring blankly into space, struggling to process those words. My grasp on the concept itself is nearly nonexistent. It’s so bad that I can barely come up with a question. “I thought… your mate had to be another wolf.”

“What? No,” he says and his hand finds my shin, strokes over my jeans. He squeezes my hand. “No, it doesn’t work like that. It can be anyone. My parents are fated mates and my mom is fae. She definitely isn’t a wolf or anything.”

“Oh.” And then, because I don’t understand, because I’m so lost and this seems like it should be impossible, I ask, “How did you know?”

He lets out a short, exasperated laugh. “I don’t—it’s gonna sound so stupid.”

“But I wanna know,” I insist.

At this, he chuckles, brushes his bangs from his face. “It’s hard to explain. I saw you across the room on the first day of class and you just about knocked my socks off,” he says. I frown. Lots of people are attracted to me. I’ve been the subject of a few instant crushes. I want to believe him, but this doesn’t bode well. “And I had a suspicion, but I-I didn’t want to know,” he says. “I thought if I could avoid smelling you, it would be all right.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, so I smile encouragingly.

“I mean, it’s—it’s kind of, um, confirmed through smell,” he explains. “So I just thought if I avoided you in the hallways and in classes and stuff, I’d never have to confront the possibility that maybe you were more than just a really hot guy who walked in front of me once.”

Now it’s starting to come together. “Until Dr Ward’s speed-dating thing.”

A pink tinge appears in his cheeks. “Yeah,” he says. “I was—I was so fucking terrified. I wasn’t ready to have my suspicions confirmed, and then I sat down across from you and it’s like—” He tugs at his hair, groans. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like, I smelled you, and the whole fucking universe just righted itself and I knew what you were and you looked at me like I was some kind of idiot and I couldn’t just tell you what was going on because I’m not supposed to be here⁠—”

Fuck. That explains our first meeting, and the subsequent ones.

“—and I had no idea what to do or how to talk to you. I just completely freaked out because you’re my fucking mate and I wanted to be with you so bad but, like, you told me you didn’t even know you were fae and I thought you probably wouldn’t believe me—” Duncan sounds like he’s about to cry again, and I really, really don’t want that, so I pull myself up and manage to grab onto his knee.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, mournful. “I should’ve told you. Felix wanted me to tell you.”

“Wait, Felix knows?”

He nods. “He figured it out when I did.”

Felix knew before me? Fuck. “And you still didn’t tell me?”

He looks miserably down at my hand. “Would you have believed me?”

I take a moment to consider this. “Maybe. I would have looked into it.”

Shaking his head, he says, “I didn’t know if I could trust you. But when you said you wanted to date, I-I should’ve told you.”