Page 17

“No,” Sascha says again. “Please, I just need a second.”

Avery withers against the side of the car, voice small as he acknowledges Sascha’s request. He watches Sascha slowly circle his head, bending his neck to either side and then back before flexing his hands and sitting up. Something pops between his shoulder blades, prompting a hiss of discomfort. Avery swallows the desire to ask once more if he’s okay.

Slowly, Sascha works each of his limbs, still blinking rapidly. He massages his temples, then slumps onto his back with a great sigh. The heels of his hands push hard against his closed eyes. When he removes them, he frowns at the ceiling, then turns toward Avery. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“What was it?”

Sascha winces. “Just… vertigo. I’ll be fine.”

Less afraid and more annoyed, Avery arches an eyebrow. “You passed out on top of me.”

“Sometimes I lose consciousness, yeah,” Sascha says, a hint of edge in his voice.

If Avery weren’t already pressed against the side of the car, he’d have inched back farther. The warning in Sascha’s tone isn’t unlike the threats he’s received from other alphas, defending their territory or mate or, sometimes, merely their pride. As if Avery knew how to steal someone’s mate or fight an established alpha with a dedicated pack. He can’t even control his fucking shift.

Alpha or not, Sascha could kill him right now if he wanted to, and Avery wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing to defend himself.

Instead of unleashing the predatory growl Avery has come to expect, Sascha furrows his brow. He scans Avery up and down, then reaches for him, fingernails still blunt, canines hidden behind his lips. Despite the lack of visible threat, Avery flinches.

Sascha jerks his hand back, moving so quickly the gesture bowls him over, causing his head to glance off the driver’s seat headrest. Avery squeaks and crawls to him, no longer caring for his own safety. He cradles Sascha’s head in his hands, holding him steady as he sinks downward. On impulse, Avery guides Sascha to rest his cheek upon his thigh. The work jeans are covered in farm gunk, but Avery’s lap is softer than plastic. Trying to be soothing, he combs his fingers through Sascha’s blond hair, taking care not to touch his scalp.

Avery freezes when Sascha catches his hand. Fear gathers in his throat, though he doesn’t try to resist when Sascha draws him in to…

Place a delicate kiss across his knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” Sascha says, lips brushing Avery’s tremblingfingers. “Irritability is… a symptom, after episodes. I should have warned you.”

Still faint, Avery asks, “What would you have warned me about?”

“I was born with a condition called the spinning sickness. It’s a disease that can be disabling to shifters.” Sascha doesn’t look at him while he speaks. “I have episodes where I lose coordination or consciousness. Shouldn’t have shifted twice today, I guess.” He snorts, hot breath puffing against Avery’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Avery has never received an apology from a shifter before, nor a werecreature alpha of any shape. He’s briefly compelled to thank Sascha, but that would be weird and complicated to explain, so he merely says, “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

It’s mostly not a lie. The adrenaline is slow to dissipate, even with Sascha resting docile in his lap. Avery still feels the ache of panic, but it is easing its grip.

“I can feel your heart pounding,” Sascha rebuts. “I scared you.”

“Only a little.”

“Shouldn’t have done it at all.” Finally, Sascha meets Avery’s eyes, brows knotted in pain and, possibly, concern. “You thought I’d hurt you?”

Uncomfortable with the direct question, Avery shrugs. “Sorry, I guess.”

“No.” Sascha grips his hand tighter. “Me. It’s Sascha’s time to be sorry. Avery didn’t do anything wrong.”

The use of third person brings a smile to Avery’s lips. “Thank you.”

“Thankyou.” Groaning, he rubs at his eyes. “I’m sorry. You probably want to go home, but I don’t think I can drive us back to Bliss.”

“That stupid farm isn’t my home,” Avery says bitterly. “But, um. I know how to drive.” He looks around the nicely kept hatchback. “If you’d trust me with your car.” Hewouldn’t blame Sascha for not trusting him, considering he hasn’t had access to a car in over eight months. There’s no guarantee he won’t fuck up.

But Sascha says, “Okay,” and tries to rise from Avery’s lap. He sways, but Avery catches him before he can knock into anything again.

“Let’s go slow.”

They make a painstaking trip from the trunk to the passenger seat, into which Sascha drops with a sigh of relief. Avery returns the speaker to its post, then neatens the remaining mess from their little nest before slamming the back door and crossing to the driver’s seat. He offers Sascha his backpack, stuffed with the bag of snacks.

“I could swing by to get you a water bottle,” Avery offers.