Page 72 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

Grant lifted one hand. “I’m not accusing anyone. I’m trying to protect Cassie too. If there’s a liability issue, we need to be honest about her state of mind.”

My state of mind.

I had heard that phrase from him before. In therapy, when he wanted my questions framed as instability. In our kitchen, when he wanted my anger framed as volatility. At family dinners, when he wanted my silence framed as healing.

Ronan’s voice cut in from beside me. “Mr. Carrington.”

Grant went still.

Ronan stepped just close enough for the tablet to catch the edge of his shoulder and nothing more.

“Halcyon Ridge staff monitored all alcohol service at the rehearsal dinner,” Ronan continued. “Ms. Morgan was not intoxicated by any standard that would support your concern. She pursued an animal that had escaped its restraint. Her injury occurred on resort property, and the resort has accepted responsibility for ensuring she receives appropriate care. If you attempt to reframe that injury as emotional instability again, you will do it in writing through counsel.”

The lobby went silent.

Beautiful. Professionally devastating.

If I had been less poisoned, I might have applauded.

Grant’s face lost warmth by degrees. “I didn’t mean to imply anything inappropriate.”

“Then we are aligned,” Ronan said.

Grant looked at me, and for one second, the concern dropped. What sat underneath was anger.

Good. Let him have some.

Aunt Linda leaned fully into frame. “Well, that was arousing.”

“Linda,” my mother hissed.

Dad didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth moved.

Tessa stared at Grant, not for long, but long enough that it mattered.

Lucien’s voice entered from the lobby side. “Dr. Sava, we are approaching the time limit.”

Dad ignored him. “Cassie, I want to see you in person.”

“You can’t yet.”

“Because they won’t let me?”

Because the wound on my shoulder looked like something from a horror movie. Because my veins had turned black before dawn. Because the man who bit me was close enough to hear my blood. Because if my father saw the truth, Ronan might decide he was a problem too.

“Because I look worse than this,” I said.

Dad’s eyes hardened.

I gave him the only thing I could. “I need you steady, remember?”

His jaw worked.

“I’m steady,” he said.

“You also need to keep Aunt Linda from committing anything prosecutable.”

“I’m not promising miracles.”