Mabel.
He didn’t stop staring at me.
Not in the creepy, looming kind of way, no, just… intensely.
Like he was trying to read a book or a message written across my face.
I shifted under the weight of his stare, curling my injured leg tighter beneath the old blanket.
“Soooo,” he said, dragging the word like it was heavy, “are you gonna tell me what is going on or do I keep pretending you didn’t just whisper 'why do you smell like him?’ Like we are in some fantasy drama?”
I winced.
“You heard that?”
“The room’s not that big," he smirked, “and also, you kind of said it out loud.”
I turned away, trying to calm the struggle in my chest.
The mate scent was too thick now... I could taste it in the air, my skin buzzed from it, it didn’t make sense.
None of it did.
And he wasn’t letting
