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“Me?” Bishop frowned. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You can give them money or find a private benefactor rather than let the clinic run on the government’s uninformed good graces.”
“The clinic is none of my business,” Bishop said with a wave of his hand, and he stood from behind his desk. He walked to a bar in the corner and poured himself a glass of whiskey.
“How can you say that?”
“I’m not involved in the medical field.”
“No, but your shifters need medical attention once in a while, right? How can you send them somewhere subpar for treatment and then say you look after your own?”
Bishop turned to me, irritated.
“Are you always this outspoken?”
“Are you always this closed-minded?”
Bishop stared at me, and his eyes changed from the bright sky blue to the cerulean tones of his wolf’s eyes. His animal was close to the surface, and the tension in the room grew thick. I was accusing him of not being a good leader, and although I could tell it was grating on him, I would stand by it.
“It doesn’t help if you’re powerful, but your pack doesn’t get the care they deserve.”
“Are you telling me I’m a bad alpha?” he challenged, coming toward me. I stood up from where I’d taken a seat so that I could stand my ground—I didn’t want him to be towering over me. It wasn’t that I was scared of him, but his power was a very definite presence in the room now that he was getting pissed off.
“I’m saying you have room for improvement.”
He stared at me. “I have enough to worry about without dealing with the clinics in this city, too.”
“Do you make it a habit to turn your back on something important when you feel it doesn’t concern you?”
“Where would I do that?”
“You turned your back on me,” I challenged.
Bishop snapped his eyes to me, and they were the eyes of his wolf, filled with anger and power.
“I don’t remember owing you anything,” he said in a voice that was much too calm—he was trying to bite back his anger. I was getting to him.
Good.
“An explanation, at the very least,” I said. “One moment, you’re all over me, and the next, you can’t get away quick enough. What am I to you? A huge thorn in your side? Or are you deliberately trying to sabotage me by getting close to me, so that it throws me off Turk’s track? It’s a hell of a way to distract me, I’ll give you—”
Before I could keep talking, Bishop kissed me. He pulled me close, his lips on mine, demanding and delicious, and he kissed me until my toes curled and I was out of breath.
When he broke the kiss, my chest rose and fell with my breathing, and my mind spun.
“It won’t work, you know,” I said. “You can’t just kiss me and seduce me and make me stop trying to find what I’m looking for.”
“I’m not trying to distract you,” Bishop said. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel about you.”
“You’re not telling me anything!” I cried out.
“You’re just not listening to me,” Bishop said, and he kissed me again.
I wanted to fight him. I wanted to shove him away, to slap him across the face for interrupting me, for kissing me when I was almost convinced he was just trying to change the topic.
I couldn’t. I melted into his arms. He turned me into a puddle of need, and I stopped trying to argue with him and with myself.
I kissed him back.
