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I told him where Dane’s car was, and he said he'd get someone to walk down there, if possible. Or swim.
“Be safe, little brother.”
I ended the call. It would have been smarter to have my bodyguards with me, but I’d dismissed them because finding and rescuing my mate was something only I could do.
“You called me Matt.”
I kept my eyes straight ahead. Even though I’d been coming to our cabin since I was a kid, the road was treacherous with all the water, and I could only just see the way ahead even with the headlights on. And I was going faster than I should because Dane wouldn’t let a little flooding get in his way.
“Isn’t that your name?”
“Maybe.”
I snorted. My mate thinking he could keep his identity a secret was adorable.
“Would you prefer I call you, ummm, something else?”
“Shit.” He unwrapped another candy bar. “So, did I go from being Dane’s prisoner to yours?”
“No.”
“Then what am I and why this cut on my hand?”
“I’ll explain everything, but for now, I need to take you far from Dane.”
“Okay,” he said in a small voice. “Who was that on the phone?”
“My brother, Flint.”
“And you are?”
We’d mated and he didn’t know who I was. How sad, though if two shifters scented each other as their fated, they would mark one another first and ask questions later, so not so unusual.
But my mate was innocent of the shifter ways.
“How about we introduce one another?”
He nodded.
“I’m Ranger Durand, Flint’s brother and his ummm… deputy.” I didn’t take my hand off the wheel to shake his, not that he’d offered it.
“I guess there’s no need for pretense. I’m Matt, and I have a problem.” He sniffed. “Stinky socks.”
A giggle snuck out, and he slapped a hand over his mouth. But he couldn’t stifle it and the giggle became a cackle and then a full-blown laugh tinged with hysteria. His shoulders shuddered, and he swayed while flapping both hands in front of his face.
What’s wrong with our mate?To my wolf, laughter was happy and crying was sad.
It’s hard to explain. This wasn’t the time for an in-depth lesson on human emotion.
He needed an outlet for what he was experiencing. Laughter was better than punching me, though I would have accepted any number of blows if it made him feel better.
As his chortles subsided, he mopped his face with the towel and covered his face. The laughter transformed into sobs, and each one chipped off a tiny piece of my heart.
“Matt,” I choked out.
“Don’t.”
I swallowed my grief, wishing I could hold him, but I was the enemy and he’d exchanged one bad guy for another.
