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."
"What the hell did this to you?" he snaps, ignoring my words. "Why are you in the street?"
"Seemed like fun at the time," I quip, an inappropriate laugh tickling behind my breastbone.
Logan’s face hovers above mine, all chiseled jawline and piercing eyes. It’s appalling how handsome he is. Pointlessly, infuriatingly gorgeous.
"Your face is stupid," I mutter, my words slurring slightly.
His brows draw together, creating little creases I want to smooth away with my fingertips. "What?"
"Nothing." I wave a hand dismissively, nearly smacking myself in the face in the process.
Logan’s large hands move over me, gentle yet efficient. He’s checking for injuries, I realize belatedly. His touch sends tingles across my skin, and I’m not sure if it’s from pain or... something else.
"I’m sorry," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. "This might hurt."
My body and brain have disconnected from the local wi-fi. I blink up at him. "Doesn’t hurt at all," I say dreamily.
He smells so nice. I’m surrounded in whatever pheromone-dumping is happening right now; without thinking, I lean forward, chasing the scent. Gone is the angry alpha smell from before. Now it’s all soothing warmth, like a cozy blanket on a winter night. With hot chocolate. And marshmallows.
You have to have the teeny-tiny marshmallows. They’re the best part.
I breathe deep, inhaling more of that intoxicating aroma. It’s making my head spin in the most delightful way.
"What are you doing?" Logan asks, his voice a mix of confusion and concern.
I look up at him, my vision slightly blurry. "You smell nice," I say, my filter completely gone. "It’s not fair. You need to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Being... you." I wave my hand vaguely in his direction. "All... alpha-y and smelling good. It’s not right. You’re a grade A asshole, you know that? Even worse than Scott Dickhead."
Logan’s eyebrows shoot up. "Scott Dickhead?"
"Mhmm." I nod sagely, then immediately regret it as the world tilts alarmingly. "My ex. The cheater. But you..." I poke him in the chest, my finger bouncing off solid muscle. Mm. Nice. Maybe I should just splay my hands and... oh, yeah. That’s firm. Very nice. "You’re worse."
"How am I worse than someone who cheated on you?" Logan asks, his voice tight.
I squint at him, trying to focus. "Because... because you made me feel things. And then you just... poof!" I make an exploding gesture with my hands, which feel oddly lonely without his pecs beneath them. "Gone. Rejected. Over some stupid misunderstanding."
Logan’s face softens, guilt flashing in his eyes. "Nicole, I—"
"No, no, no," I cut him off, wagging my finger at him. "No apologies. No explanations. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to smell all... all... comforting and then act like you care."
I try to push myself up, but my arms are overcooked noodles. Spaghetti sounds good. Maybe I should have spaghetti for dinner. But not meatballs. Spearing a meatball makes me think of driving the oh shit feature into an eyeball. Nope. Don’t want that.
"Nicole, have you been drinking?"
"Nope." The way the ’p’ feels on my lips is amusing, so I try again. "Noooo-puh. No-puh!"
Logan reaches out to steady me, his hands warm and strong on my shoulders. "You shouldn’t move," he says, his voice gentle. "You’ve lost a lot of blood."
I look down at my legs, seeing the gashes for what feels like the first time. "Oh," I say, oddly detached. "That’s not good, is it?"
Logan shakes his head, something I can see dimly from my peripheral vision, which is a little wavy-wanky-janky at this point in time.
"No, it’s not. We need to get you to a hospital."
"But my car..." I trail off, remembering the panther-man. "There’s a cat on my car. A big cat. Was a big cat. Now he’s a man. I think. Unless I imagined that part."
Logan’s eyes widen, and he glances over my shoulder. "Stay here," he says firmly. "Don’t move."
He stands up, and I immediately miss his warmth. I watch as he walks around my battered car, his movements cautious and predatory. It reminds me of how he looked that night in the bar, all coiled power and danger.
"Stop that," I mutter to myself. "Bad Nicole. No ogling the asshole alpha."
Logan returns a moment later, his face grim. "There’s no one there now," he says. "But your car’s a fucking mess. What happened?"
My memory’s a little fuzzy, which makes me think of kittens. Kittens are fuzzy.
"Nicole?"
"Yeah?" His face comes into view, blocking out everything else. It’s nice—gorgeous, really—but I’m a little let down.
I want a kitten. They’re sweet, cute, and cuddly. Better than cheating exes. Better than reject-y alpha males. Fuck him, anyway. Don’t I hate him right now?
"An ambulance is on the way. I’m going to tie a tourniquet on each leg. It’s going to hurt."
"Mm. No, thank you." Rejecting him as politely as I can manage, I shake my head. "Not into any more pain tonight."
"Nicole, are you sure you haven’t been drinking?"
"No drinking. Just tea. Didn’t drink that, either." Remembering the Fernsby mansion, I scowl in Logan’s direction. "Did you tell him about the fake murdered clients? I bet you did."