He's growling, a deep sound that should freeze the very blood in my veins, but only makes me want to curl up in his lap and rub my cheek all over that broad, sexy chest of his.
Damn. I'm not an expert on fated mate connections, but shouldn't this shit be over between us? I felt a distinct ending during the rejection.
"Are you okay?"
The way he snaps the question ruins the cuddle up like a kitten and be taken care of instincts stirring deep in my pheromone-addled brain, and I look down at myself, only then seeing the deep gashes in my thighs.
Isn't there some sort of major artery in there somewhere?
I'm lucky to be alive.
"Just peachy, thanks."
The sarcasm trips off my tongue without intention, and his frustrated snarl makes me want to giggle out of sheer hysteria as I slowly melt to the ground into a puddle of dazed Nicole jello.
"There's a cat on my car."
