"Where is she?" the familiar deep, gruff voice arrived somewhere behind August, and she turned to see Graeme suddenly at her side, his face contorted with worry.
"What happened?" he cupped the sides of her face, and she shook her head silently, looking away from him.
His face was like home, but now there were competing images in her mind. That same face with those warm, deep eyes had invited someone else in. Someone else had seen him the way that she had seen him. It made her nauseous.
"She met Violet," Greta whispered, "Violet must have grabbed her."
"And where were you?" Graeme snapped back.
"You know what, I'm fine," August blurted out, angry at the hushed voices and the tears and the nausea that was building, but she couldn't bring herself to look at her mate.
