Page 14 of Titan’s Mate

The growl grew to a constant rumble in his chest.

Brock opened his mouth—probably to say something annoyingly sensible—but Mari was already on her feet, moving slowly toward him like she was approaching a wild animal.

Which she was.

He waited for her to get scared. Even the crew was a little scared of Bear when he got going.

She came right up to him, though, and put her hand on his chest.

Her touch went through his turbulent forest fire of emotions like cool water. The growl quieted to a low rumble.

Bear wanted her to stay. Titan didn’t. He wanted her to leave so he wouldn’t have the responsibility. So he wouldn’t fail her. So the voices in his head would go away and everything would be quiet again.

Lonely, a little voice whispered in the back of his mind.

No. Solitary. Safe.

She looked up into his face. “Is it okay if I stay?” she asked, as if she could sense his conflict. “My bear feels—safe—here.”

She met his eyes then, and something happened. A connection between them, that warmed the inside of his chest. Bear’s growl turned to a low humming, almost like a purr.

Without even intending to, he slowly nodded.

The sound of Brock shutting the door behind him startled them both. Mari hadn’t even noticed him leaving.

The cabin filled with a thick, uncomfortable silence.

Suddenly Mari didn’t know what to say. She was usually confident, comfortable inside her skin, so she didn’t worry much about what other people thought of her.

But suddenly she wanted to know what this man thought of her.

His face showed nothing, though. He moved away from her, picking up her backpack from the corner and slinging it over his shoulder like the forty pounds of stuff in it weighed nothing.

“Come on,” he said gruffly. “It’s late, and you need sleep. The bedroom is upstairs.”

Bedroom. Singular, she thought as she followed him up the stairs. As in, she was kicking him out of his bed. She hadn’t thought about that.

The bedroom was a loft, with only a half-wall between it and the downstairs. There was a dresser and night tables and a big easy chair, but most of it was taken up by a perfectly enormous bed with no blankets, only a tangled sheet snaking across it.

“You can sleep there.” He put down her backpack and pointed at the bed, as if she could miss it. “I’ll get clean sheets.” He moved to the dresser and bent over, opening the bottom drawer.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize I’d be taking your bed.”

He shrugged without looking at her. “It doesn’t matter. I probably wasn’t going to sleep tonight anyway.”

Because of his clan. His family, whose graves were in the woods. The grief was still with him.

“I grieve for your loss,” she said very quietly. It was what the xióngmāo said, when they learned of a death. “Loss of a life is loss for us all.” And the loss of thirty-three lives, all on one day? She couldn’t even imagine it.

His shoulders stiffened. “You were there.” His voice was very soft. She knew he meant at the graveyard, tonight.

“Yes.” She paused, then added formally, “I am deeply sorry for my intrusion, and for your grief.”

She saw his fingers tighten on the edge of the drawer until they turned white, and his breathing grew faster.

The rage and pain were still so close. He was fighting them off with everything he had. She stayed very quiet.

Finally he said, “It was a long time ago.”