Page 93 of Trusting Her Bear

“I have better hearing than you.”

“I think he’s in trouble,” I cry.

“He doesn’t want help.”

“Sometimes, it’s hard to ask for help, even if you want it.” I can speak from experience.

“Quinn is the best of us,” he starts. “He deserves a mate who puts him above all others.”

“I will always put him first,” I say.

“I can see that.” He narrows his eyes. “Just because you are scared doesn’t mean you aren’t brave.” I drop my eyes. “I’m sure I will regret this. You have to swear to defend me when Quinn tries to kill me.”

“What?” I sputter.

“He knows Quinn is going to chop off his head for letting you run to the rescue,” Micah says from the living room.

“You’ll let me leave?”

“We are coming with you. I would never allow you to go alone,” he says.

“I wouldn’t either. I’m in a good mood from killing a coyote, and I still wouldn’t,” Micah says dryly. I would hate to be around the vampire when he is in a bad mood if this is him happy.

“Bash is on his way.”

“I know, I heard.” He walks backward. “We will wait until he gets here. He’ll bring the calvary. I hope you know what you are doing,” he says as he leaves the room.

“Me too,” I whisper.

I can’t shake the feeling that Quinn doesn’t have it handled.

I truly hope that I am wrong.

Chapter Twenty

Quinn

She doesn’t look much older than when I saw her last, but her scent is different. The stench of anger and hatred mixed with the sweet smell I remember. Many things are different, including the large knife she holds in her hand. When I was twelve, my dad gave me a blade, and she had a fit, stating she hated weapons. Now, she holds it easily.

The woman who disappeared is standing in front of me, and my steel control is gone. I have pictured a reunion between us for years. What would she say? Was she sorry? Would she hug me like she used to?

“Son,” she says. “You came.”

I swallow, my mouth dry. “You knew I would.”

“I had hoped, but I have been let down before.” She shrugs.

“Why? Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see my son,” she says, but the words are followed by a sick smile.

“Really? Why now? How many years have you had to see me?”

“Don’t be bitter,” she scolds. I grind my teeth, transported to the past when she would get mad at us.

“What the fuck is going on? You sent the messages?”

“Catch up, son,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I wanted to see the woman who captured you.”