Page 202 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

Her gaze found mine. “Is she?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“She is angry.”

“At me?”

“At Grant, I think.”

Even exhausted, Cassie’s expression shifted. A soft, painful awareness crossed her face. “About damn time.”

The words were barely audible.

I wanted to tell her everything. That Tessa had defended her. That her father was afraid beneath the bluster. That Grant was still exactly what Cassie knew him to be, and Tessa had finally begun to see it. I wanted to tell her I would get them out.

I wanted to tell her I would die doing it.

Instead I stroked her hair back from her face.

“You need strength tomorrow.”

“For what?”

“Full moon.”

Her mouth tightened. “Right. The scheduled supernatural disaster.”

“You will need to run if I tell you to run.”

That made her eyes open again, too sharp now.

“Ian.”

I should not have said it that way.

I bent and kissed her brow before she could chase the thread. “If things break badly, you run. You take your family, and you do not look back.”

Her sleepy gaze hardened with a hint of the woman who had argued with wolves while fevered. “I am not agreeing to mysterious instructions from a man doing tragic architecture impressions in my bedroom.”

Despite myself, I almost smiled.

Almost.

“You do not have to agree tonight,” I said. “You only have to sleep.”

“I hate that answer.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to be very irritating about this tomorrow.”

“I am counting on it.”

Her eyes searched my face again, but the medicine was dragging her under, and pain had stolen too much from her. She knew something was wrong. She didn’t have the strength to name it.

Good.