Page 38 of Sight of Fate

Heart pounding, I tear open my eyes. Teague’s gorgeous face is inches from mine. Propped up by a pillow, he stares down at me. I stretch, and his body presses mine deeper into the mattress. We’re in his bed. Together. I scramble to sit up, dislodging the hand at my back, and look down. Exhaling at the sight of my blouse and pants, I slump in relief. Not naked.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” There’s a troubling expression on his face. “The healer patched you up. Ten stitches.”

My brows draw together, and I lift a hand to my forehead, where I find a thick bandage. An image of the stairs pops into my mind. Andros. Those fangs. Terror rolls through me, making my heart thump wildly in my chest.

“He’s not here,” Teague assures me, rising to his knees and placing a comforting hand on my arm.

I gulp at the sight of his bare chest. Is he? My mouth drops open, then closes as I glimpse black shorts slung low on his hips. Damn. Although I’m not sure if I’m cursing because he’s wearing shorts or because he isn’t naked. I lick my lips. Not going to lie. Never seen a body like his. I silently snort. Not that I’ve ever been in bed with a man. Boy, yes. Unable to help myself, I stare at the way his broad chest tapers into a slim waist stacked with line after line of abs, then flows down to the sharp cut of his hips.

Mesmerized by all the skin and muscles displayed before me, I tentatively reach out, desperate to touch all that tanned skin, then stop midway. What is wrong with me? Mortified at what I almost did, I pull back, looking anywhere but his chest.

“Charli,” Teague murmurs, but when I shake my head, he changes tactics.

Look at me.

I squeeze my eyes closed and shake my head.

Touch me.

Shocked, I open my eyes. “How are you doing that?” When he raises an eyebrow, I cross my arms over my chest and level him with a look. “I can hear you. In my head. This isn’t the first time either. At the office, when I was running from Andros, it was you, wasn’t it? I wasn’t imagining it.”

His fingers spear through his hair, messing it up even further. “When you were in danger, you called to me. Do you remember?”

“All I could think of was getting to you,” I reluctantly admit, remembering how I kept repeating his name. I gasp. “You heard me?”

It’s his turn to hesitate.

“Is this a supernatural thing?” I ask, starting to freak out. “Can everyone hear me? Can they read my thoughts?” Horrified at the idea, I slap a hand over my mouth.

“Depends on the supernatural. Some, like shifters, can speak to each other if they’re in the same clan or family. But no, everybody can’t hear you,” he replies. “And I can’t hear all your thoughts. Only the ones you send to me.”

“Is a gargoyle considered a shifter?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

“We are, but that’s not why you and I can hear each other,” he says. “When you and I met. We clasped hands, palm to palm, and there was a connection. Do you remember feeling anything that day?”

I think back to when we met. The overwhelming sense I got when I slid my hand into his. “It felt like I was falling off a cliff. Why?”

“Supernaturals have.” He stops. “We have… You’re my mate, Charli. It means we’re meant for each other.” His blunt statement isn’t what I expect to hear.

“Like a soulmate?” I murmur, completely confused. I look at his handsome face and perfect body, then down at myself. My fingers twist in the sheets. “Can’t be. We don’t match. You’re. You. I’m…me.” Scrawny, flat-chested, scarred.

He takes a deep breath. “Close your eyes.” He gives an exasperated sigh when I don’t immediately comply. “Please, close your eyes.”

I close them. “Now what?”

He slides off the bed. “I’m going to walk into the living room. Tell me when you feel something.”

Okay. He moves, and the odd vibration I’ve felt off and on since we met flares to life. It’s like a string, connecting me to him. As he walks around the living room, I turn, knowing exactly where he is. But it’s not this faint feeling anymore. It’s solid. Persistent.

I feel you.

I open my eyes the minute he steps into the room.

“You’re my mate, Charli,” he states with conviction. He comes over and grabs my hand. “Raine had a vision of you as my mate.” Teague lets that sink in for a minute.

I shake my head unable to believe it.

“We can speak to each other telepathically. We can feel each other. We’re mates, Charli.”