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“Angie.”
She trembled. There was something about the throaty way he said her name. She’d given up on getting him to call her anything else; deep down, she liked it, even though she knew she shouldn’t. A chill coursed through her, making her shudder. She tried to ignore it.
She had to. No matter what he said—what he believed—Maddox already belonged to another. The witch was willing to fight for him, and Evangeline wanted nothing to do with that. So it didn’t matter what he was doing, what he was saying, or the fact that having him in this room felt right for some reason.
A throb started at the base of her skull. Her vision seemed tinged with purple as she lowered her head. She tried to deny it. Accepting the faint purple aura meant she had to admit that that had been a real witch threatening her, not just a figment of her drugged subconscious.
Evangeline rubbed her eyes, then probed gently at the back of her head.
23
“Are you okay?”
His mate glared up at him. “What? Oh. Yeah. Just a headache. Probably from the knock-out drugs you slipped me with dinner. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Trust me, I’m used to it. I’ve been getting headaches since this accident I was in. Don’t worry about it.”
He refused to feel guilty for doing what he had felt like he had to, even if her casual mention of the accident that ripped her from him cut deep. When the bond was cemented, his claim secure, he’d make it up to Evangeline—all of it. For the rest of their lives, he’d treat her like the queen she was. They just had to survive this bumpy patch together.
Maddox thought about offering her some more aspirin, realized that she’d totally cut off her nose to spite her face again—or, in this case, let her head throb just to stick it to him.
He gentled his growl, careful not to aggravate her headache. They had to have this discussion. Maybe that made him an even bigger bastard, taking advantage of her pain, using it as a distraction to move closer to her, but Maddox was okay with it.
He’d make it up to her. He promised.
Edging toward the foot of the bed, he asked softly, “What do you know about shifters’ mates?”
“You only get one,” she mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. She continued to rub her head. “But that doesn’t mean—”
“It’s you,” Maddox said.
He couldn’t keep the distance between them any longer. Daring to sit on the edge of the bed now, he went slowly, trying not to spook her. He reached for her hand, not surprised when she pulled away before he got too close. There was a spark whenever their skin touched, the bond attempting to re-ignite. He kept going all in but Evangeline was still denying him—and that hurt.
Almost as much as the determined way she said, “It can’t be.”
“I know you think I’m a crazy paranormal bastard, but I’ve spent my whole life searching for my mate. It’s you, Angie. It’s always been you. And I can prove it.”
She leaned away from him, the air shifting as her scent changed. Maddox sniffed. He could’ve sworn that he caught a hint of something sweet, something unnatural before. Now, her warm vanilla scent soothed his soul, and he breathed deep, picking up on the emotional notes coloring her scent.
He didn’t smell any fear coming off of her so that was a good sign. It was more like… sadness. Sadness mingled with regret, with a hint of confusion thrown into the mix. Maddox gazed earnestly at her face, at the way her thick waterfall of long, dark hair fell forward like a curtain. Slowly, because his mate was acting so uncharacteristically skittish, he raised his large hand and pushed a lock of hair behind her delicate ear.
His mouth opened slightly in surprise. There were tears in her eyes, a touch of salt stinging his senses. Evangeline lifted her hand up and roughly wiped at her face before turning away from him again.
Without another word, she slid across the sheets, perching her long, lean body on the edge of the bed. She turned her back on him.
Maddox was stunned.
He could deal with her anger. Her fire. Her spirit. He hated the idea that she would run from him, but even her escape last night had been expected. He’d hoped for recognition when she realized he’d moved her from the cabin to their home in Wolf’s Creek. He didn’t get that, but he was okay with confusion. She was working through it.
He thought he was making strides.
But this overarching sadness? When Evangeline was so distraught, she couldn’t even think of a way to fight back again?
Shit.
He really had broken his mate, hadn’t he?
