Page 8 of Shifter Situations

“Yes.”

“I don’t think this is going to be a strictly legal matter,” I informed her. “The shifters who showed up weren’t here on orders from the Supreme Alpha. It’s all going to tie back to the rogues and that fucking drug that’s being passed around. So, be prepared for that.”

After ending my call with Blaire, I hopped into the shower under a stream of cold water. I was cautious as I built up my mental barriers, not wanting my mates to hear my internal musings.

My breakdown.

Hopefully, not the mental kind.

Four out of six guys could hear my thoughts now. But only one of those four could hear everything, and I didn’t want him to listen to anything for a few minutes.

I huffed at myself as I waited for the water to begin warming, heating my skin with it. The chill in my bones had nothing to do with the temperature of the spray, but I shook regardless.

Being emotionally unavailable was my… thing; my fallback, my failsafe. It kept me from getting attached, from being broken again. Yet here I was, opening up and trying to understand the feelings once more. Not just my own, but six others as well.

I didn’t know how I knew it, but I was positive that my mates would never leave me willingly. My brain was not as accepting as my heart, though. They were on two different pages, in two totally different books, really.

While my brain continued to scream logic at me, my heart was being a clumsy bitch. The useless organ in my chest had sprouted legs and started running full speed toward all the little broken pieces of my mates.

The thumping beat of my heart said, “We can fix this.”

My brain was actively yelling, “Those are red flags, you idiot.”

But they weren’t red flags, were they?

When I stepped back and assessed my own life, it was easy to see that I was the risk. I was the lesson to be learned from this relationship. My actions—or the reactions I caused—would end up hurting them at some point.

Why did I deserve them?

I’d done nothing but asked them to give shit up since I met them. To my knowledge, they hadn’t even been back to their apartment in over two weeks. We’d barely been at my house either.

And now it felt weird to call it my house.

I didn’t want it to just be mine, and I didn’t want them to not be here. I mean, I didn’t want to be surrounded all day, every day, but I did want them within the walls… if they wanted to be.

What the fuck was I even thinking about?

This was the bullshit that made me hate emotions in the first place. It was fucking contagious. You catch one feeling, and then you’ve miraculously caught them all.

Why couldn’t I simply feel boredom, anger, and the occasional dose of optimism?

Just in the last twenty-four hours, I’d felt uncertain and enthusiastic. Dejected and empowered. Agitated and motivated.

This shit was giving me whiplash.

But godsdamnit, they were fucking worth it.

Every splintered piece of their pasts called to the darkness inside me. Again, I found myself thinking that I would, without a doubt, let the world burn as long as they were safe.

What would one call that feeling?

I turned the water off and grabbed a towel to dry myself, knowing good and well that I didn’t bathe at all. I’d stood there, trying to open my emotions up more, but all I’d done was make myself feel like shit.

Shut it down, Sloane.

Stalking out of my bathroom, I stared at my duffle bag with disdain. The pink monstrosity sat comfortably on the floor beside my bedroom door, waiting to be snatched up for the next adventure.

I hadn’t had time to unpack it since we’d returned from the Underworld, and we were leaving again. There was no point doing it now, except for maybe needing clean clothing.