Page 15 of Plus-Size Bullied Mate

“There’s your problem. You think I matter enough for things to be personal,” she mutters.

Something about the resignation in her voice twists ugly in my chest, and it forces me to take a small step closer.

Tessa immediately steps back, and the movement hits harder than it should, because I know exactly what it is.

Fear… she’s afraid of me.

I should expect that after tonight, but instead, it feels more like a punch to the ribs.

Forcing down how much that bothers me, I clench my jaw tighter and gesture to the nearby chairs. “Sit down.”

“No.”

“Tessa.”

“I said no,” she returns, surprisingly harsh through her fear.

My wolf presses harder beneath my skin at the challenge, already agitated from the fight and prepared for more.

Mine.

That goddamn word circulates in my head all over again, and the instincts are becoming difficult to separate from my own thoughts.

I’ve felt this before, and that’s exactly why I had to put space between us. It was the only way I could stay sane.

Dragging a hand down my face slowly, I fight for whatever patience I can find. “Why didn’t you fight him?”

Her expression closes up instantly, retreating within herself so quickly it almost gives me whiplash. “We’re not doing this.”

“He dragged you through the woods like prey, and you barely resisted.”

Something flashes across her face then. Rather than anything rooted in fear or resistance, it looks a lot more like exhaustion, and the kind that settles in so deep that it’s almost impossible to get out.

“I tried.”

The quietness of the words catches me off guard, along with more honesty than I want to hear.

I study her carefully. “You gave up. You didn’t even shift.”

Tessa goes very still, and for half a second, I think I pushed too far. Then anger ignites across her face so quickly it surprises me.

“You think I don’t know that?” she snaps, far bolder than I’ve ever seen from her.

Even if this could be taken as insubordination, I don’t scold her. Not when anger is better than that empty resignation she wore earlier.

“At least you’re fighting now.”

Her eyes narrow. “Oh, screw you, Hunter.”

The hostility should bother me, and it certainly would if it were coming from anyone else. Instead, some dark part of me is relieved by it, since this sharp-tongued fury is more alive and less hopeless, like she had been with Hayes.

“You fought me harder than him,” I repeat. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or irritated with you.”

She scoffs and crosses her arms even tighter. “Neither. Not while you’re the source of my trauma.”

The word cuts through my irritation unexpectedly, and I lock onto it immediately.

Trauma.