Page 23 of UNAwere

He sucks in a breath. ‘You don’t know about Primrose Weres enough, then.’

I chuckle. ‘No, not really. Haven’t really cared to, to be honest.’ I make a face, remembering what Maeve told me. ‘Although… Do you lot really do mating rituals?’

He gets to his feet, putting his phone on the table beside him. ‘Go to sleep.’

‘But the mating—?’

Briggs grunts. ‘I’m going to shower. Don’t leave this room.’

I sigh when the bathroom door slams behind him. ‘Grumble bum.’

When my hair is relatively dry, I hang up the towel on the hat rack by the door and get into bed. I scroll through my phone, smiling at the message Maeve sent me an hour ago.

Maevey

Nolan wants me to tell you that if the bodyguard gives you trouble, just kick him in “the knackers”. I don’t know what “knackers” are, but maybe just slap him?

Me

He’s fine. Just a bit grumbly.

I scroll through my socials, my heart aching when I see photos Prue posted of Maeve and Izzy in their Were forms, standing by the river that runs through the forest on Nolan’s property. Maeve’s chestnut coat is in stark contrast to Izzy’s dark grey, and she’s so much smaller.

I miss them. I miss home.

Tears suddenly choke me, and I let out a soft sob, clamping a hand over my mouth. But the grief hits me like a truck, and another sob comes out, followed by another. My vision blurs and I grimace, curling in on myself.

The bathroom door suddenly bursts open, and Briggs is by the side of the bed in a flash. He’s taking off the blankets I’ve buried myself under, breathing hard.

‘W-what?’ I stammer, my legs tangled in the sheets.

‘Are you hurt? Why are you crying?’ His voice is pitched in a way I haven’t heard it before. He’s panicking.

‘Oh jeepers, no, I’m fine,’ I say through my tears. ‘I just saw photos of my sister, and it’s hit me how much I miss her.’

I’ve never been so far from her. It feels wrong.

Briggs takes a step back, his breathing settling. ‘Oh…’

I stare up at him, wiping my eyes. And then I notice. His chest is bare. He’s wearing a towel. My eyes run over his pecs. The hairs on them. The scars. The way his collarbones form around bulging muscles. The way his biceps tense as he pulls the towel closer to him, as if he’s also realising he’s just run out to me with only this flimsy bit of cloth to cover himself. He’s dripping water all over the bed and carpet. I strain my ears. The shower’s still running.

‘You heard me crying—?’

His face hardens. ‘I thought you were in danger. False alarm.’

He doesn’t say anything else and stalks back to the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him. I stare after him, confused.

And then I sigh and gather the blankets up around me, lying down. I’m asleep before I even hear Briggs come back out of the bathroom.

The next morning, Briggs drives us to the nearest place that sells coffee, as the motel had none. I get out when he signals it’s safe and rush inside until I’m at the counter. He comes in behind me, stepping in close and reading the menu above our heads. The memory of him standing over me, dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel, flashes through my head, and I shiver, taking a minute step forward.

‘What can I get you?’ the girl asks, smiling at us.

‘Coffee,’ Briggs tells her, frowning.

I snort. ‘Ignore him. He’s a beginner.’ I step to the counter and order a cappuccino for myself and a long black for him.

‘Coffee’s coffee,’ he mutters as we stand to the side to wait.