Page 212 of Whispers of Wisteria

“I put it in the drawer.” I looked at the nightstand, then back at him. He’d followed my gaze. “Or under my pillow.”

“You’re holding it now,” he pointed out.

My shoulders tightened, and my skin grew warm. “Because I’m upset! I’d like to seeyoudie and be okay. It’s not like I carry it around all the time, I’m not a child.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” Damen responded. “I was just curious because you had it tonight. What made you reach for it?”

“I—I don’t know,” I responded. What did he want from me? “There was nobody here when I woke up, so I grabbed it.”

He didn’t say anything, so I added, “If it offends you so much, I’ll make sure you never have to see it again.”

Damen cocked his head. “It doesn’t.”

There was something, I knew it.

Titus had been glaring before he stormed off.

Maybe…

“Did—” I held it to my chin, my thoughts dizzying. “Is it bad? Is that why Titus left?”

Damen, who’d been relaxed before, straightened. “No—”

“He was looking at it,” I breathed.

“Titus left because he noticed something he didn’t expect,” Damen responded cautiously. “But he’s fine now.”

“What did he notice?” I asked. A thousand scenarios rushed through my thoughts. He was a dragon. They had enhanced senses.

Damen’s eyes flickered with guilt. “It’s not—”

“No…” It came to me before he could finish speaking.

He smelled it.

The same way he’d smelled the wolves who’d attacked me, and could smell other embarrassing biological functions.

That’s why he got mad.

He could smell what happened, and what it meant. He could smell that I held it after and cried.

The evidence was still there.

My body went cold, and my hands began to numb. The rabbit fell into my lap, but then I immediately felt guilty. I grabbed it and held it to me again.

“But I need it!” Why was I so stupid? “It helps me! I can’t just throw it away.”

“You don’t have to give it up.” His voice cut through the panic, and my heart stilled. “I know why you need it, and I don’t care. Not in the way you think.”

I squeezed it tighter.

“It was one of the few things that didn’t hurt you,” he said. “And one of your only sources of comfort when everything else was gone.”

My eyes filled with tears.

“One day you won’t need it anymore,” he continued, holding my gaze through my blurring vision. The air grew warmer. “Because you’ll know that you’re finally safe. That’s my job.”

I couldn’t breathe.