Page 31 of Endlessly Raphael
“Yeah? What did he say?”
“The night we met, we were both at the same club and it was out of our ordinary routines. He decided at the last minute to go there, and I let Thorn talk me into it. He said, ‘maybe it was fate.’ Do you believe it could be that simple? That we were just drawn to the same place?”
Midnight shrugs. “You gotta meet somehow. Why wouldn’t it be simple? Maybe Haven isn’t involved in some big situation that needs our help. Do you think he could be your mate?”
“How would I even know? Does it feel different?”
“Yes. It’s a visceral connection. It’s difficult to be apart. You think about them all the time, and the physical part is more intense, I’d say.”
“Really good sex?”
“Better than good. It’s the best, and it’s deeper than what you’ve known before.”
“Even when it shouldn’t be?”
“What do you mean?” Midnight asks.
“Like, you barely know someone, but the connection is strong.”
He nods. “Exactly like that. I noticed an almost rabid desire to protect Tru and keep him close.”
I nod, shifting my gaze past Midnight for a second. “Being unable to think about anything else when he’s not with you?”
“Yep.”
“Were you ever worried that maybe you were projecting onto Tru because of what happened with Syn and Bowie?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “But then it just became too obvious that it wasn’t that.” He grips my shoulder. “My advice is to let it happen. There’s nothing you have to do. If he’s your mate, it will become clear soon enough, and if he’s not, then you can still enjoy him.”
I nod. “Good advice.”
We both turn our heads sharply to the left as three men enter the alleyway, boisterous and walking clumsily.
“There he is,” Midnight says, narrowing his eyes.
“Yep. The asshole du jour.”
Midnight snorts a laugh. “Who do you want?”
“I’ll take his friends.”
“Let’s do this.”
We both stand and leap from the building, landing almost silently behind the three men, but casting a shadow that gets their attention. The target spins around, a gun already in his hand. Clearly drunk, he sways as he tries to make out our faces in the dim lighting.
“Who the fuck are you?” he growls, stumbling toward us.
Before he reaches me, I can smell cheap beer and body odor wafting off him. He’s a very tall and muscular man, with a shock of white-blond hair and tattoos covering almost all his visible skin, even parts of his face. He’s dressed in a white tank and baggy jeans.
Midnight steps forward just slightly. “We need to talk to you, Mike Janoslowsky.”
He snarls in response. “I don’t gotta talk to no one.” He waves the gun at us. “I don’t got no business with you.”
“But we have business with you,” Midnight calmly replies.
The two guys standing next to Mike move in. One of them pulls a gun and fires it right at me, but I grab the bullet in midair, growling as I toss it to the ground.
“What the fuck,” the guy says, starting to move backward away from me.