Page 49 of Brandon’s Mate

“You were breaking into my house.”

“It was just for fun,” Remy said. “It’s not like you wouldn’t have let us in if we’d knocked.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Brandon muttered.

“Fine. We’ll just go,” Colt snapped.

“Why the hell did you even come in the first place?” They were shouting now.

“Because Kitty said you needed rescuing!” That was Remy, throwing fuel on the fire.

Brandon turned on her. “For fuck’s sake, I do not need to be rescued!”

“Yes you do!” she yelled. “I had a prophetic dream, okay? Like, ninety times. If we don’t help you, you’ll die. So shut the fuck up and let us.” She folded her arms and glared at him.

Brandon stared at her. “Since when do you have prophetic dreams?”

“Since you decided to risk your life doing whatever it is you’re doing, apparently. It seems my white wolf genes woke up and decided to save your ass. So here we are.”

“I think we should let him die,” Colt said to Remy. “Fuck this shit.”

“What the hell is your problem?” Brandon snapped.

Colt still spoke to Remy. “He seriously wants to know why we’re pissed at him?”

Remy shrugged. “I guess.”

Brandon growled, “Is somebody going to tell me?”

The twins looked at each other and started packing up their first aid supplies. Kitty sighed loudly. “Nice going,” she said to Brandon. “Now they’re not speaking to you.”

Brandon rolled his eyes. “What are we, five?”

Remy said to Kitty, “Tell Brandon that we’re pissed off at him for being a friend-abandoning douche.”

Kitty said, “You heard him.”

Brandon snarled, “Then I ask again, why the fuck did you come?”

Silence.

Facepalm.

Kitty said wearily to the twins, “He wants to know why the fuck you came.”

“Duh,” Remy said. “Because even though we’ve been pissed off at him for the last six years, he’s still family.” He elbowed Colt. “Isn’t he?”

Colt muttered, “I guess.”

Remy added, “We’re not going to let some other asshole shifters kill him. If anyone’s going to kill him, it’s us.”

Brandon put his hands on his hips. “Fine,” he said, sounding martyred. “If I apologize for being a friend-abandoning douche, will you at least acknowledge that I’m speaking and not fucking make Kitty repeat every word I say? Because otherwise at least one of you is going to die.”

The twins looked at each other, then turned to face him, arms folded—two carbon-copy ripped, muscular pissed-off shifters with identical tousled blond hair and gray eyes. Also, identical offended expressions.

They didn’t say anything.

“What?” Brandon demanded.