Page 30 of The Lunatics

I was still freaked out by the way his mother’s anger had just… disappeared. As if she’d turned it off like a faucet. There wassomething weird about that woman. I glanced at Michael one last time before shutting the door behind me. There was something weird about him, too.

From everything I’d been told about new bonds, I should have felt his emotions coming through loud and clear, like I had last night right after the bond snapped into place. It was almost like he’d learned how to mute it, but I knew that wasn’t it. Because the thing was, I should have still smelled his emotions, and I didn’t. You can’t mask scent. Not that I knew of, at least. Michael’s emotions weren’t coming through the bond that strongly because he wasn’t experiencing them that strongly. He wasn’t letting himself get upset. He had his feelings under lockdown. I would have been impressed at his level of control if I wasn’t so weirded out by it.

My thoughts ran in a loop as I carried my coffee over to one of the taller wardrobes and pulled out my favorite red dress. It wasn’t anything fancy, tight in the bodice and looser over my hips, falling to mid-thigh, but it set off my shape well, made me look like I had more curves than I did.

I pulled it on and went back to the bathroom to curl my hair. That took less time than blow-drying it did, since I opted for loose waves. Afterward, I pulled out a little cosmetics bag filled with organic brands. Werewolves were hypersensitive to chemicals, and I couldn’t stand unnatural products touching my skin. I spread a tinted moisturizer over my face, brushed a little blush over my cheeks, and applied my go-to winged liner and multiple coats of mascara. It was funny how putting on a dress could feel like donning chain mail. How easy it was to think of my makeup as war paint. Ready for battle, I left my room.

Michael waited in the kitchen. His expression hardly changed as his gaze took me in—just a slight raise of his brows—but through the bond came a newfound… awareness. His mouth pinched, andthe emotion disappeared, like he’d mentally quashed it. Too late. I knew what it meant: My mate thought I was hot.

“You look… well,” he said, with almost no inflection. Notnice, orpretty.Well.

I leveled my gaze at him and strode over, my hips rolling thanks to the heels I wore. I’d had just about enough of him trying to hide his emotions from me. “Michael, thanks to the bond, I’m aware of just howwellyou think I look.”

His gaze raked over me again, quickly, like he couldn’t help himself, and then he turned half away. His cheeks colored slightly.

“But thank you,” I said, taking pity on him as my eyes took in the sight of yet another suit. “You look nice, too.”

He pushed his right arm straight, exposing his watch, and then bent his elbow to read it. “We should be leaving soon. Are you ready?”

Guess we’re not going to talk about our mutual attraction.

“I am,” I said. “Better to be early than late. I’d rather not risk your mother’s wrath. You might be her son, but I’m just the inconvenient cannon fodder you got bonded to.”

I’d meant it as a joke, but he didn’t take it that way. Anger wafted off him like the breeze that precipitates a storm. His voice dropped into a near growl. “She willnotmake a move against you.”

I lifted my hands. “Okaaay. No teasing about my personal safety. Got it.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. In the back of my mind, I felt him battling against a sudden mix of fear, panic, and what must have been protectiveness. The fear and panic felt familiar. Because they were mine, I realized, rebounding like my parents had warned.

Michael took a deep, shuddering breath in through his nose and gripped the edge of the kitchen island. I hated to see him like this, and even though I knew it was the bond driving my need to comfort him, the urge was impossible to ignore.

Screw it, I thought, reaching out to rub his back.

He stiffened in response, and I almost pulled my hand away, but then I felt some of the tension ease from his back, and instead I pressed in a little harder. He relaxed in increments, his anger draining away along with the stiffness in his body. After a few minutes, he bowed his head and pushed into me.

Huh. Maybe he wasn’t allergic to surprise hugs after all. Maybe he just wasn’t used to them.

“You doing okay?” I asked. “Mr. Iron Self-Control?”

He stared down at the floor. “I am unaccustomed to this feeling of… helplessness. And while I pride myself on being the master of my emotions, yours are proving somewhat more difficult for me to wrangle. They seem to be amplifying my own at the moment.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m trying.”

He lifted his head and met my gaze, a small, humorless smile playing over his full lips. “We are forever apologizing to each other.”

“Want to just call it even?”

He nodded. “Thank you, for…”

“Rubbing your back?” I asked, grinning.

He nodded again, a hint of pink in his cheeks.

Was he shy? Or just a prude? And why did I suddenly want to keep teasing him until I found out which one it was?

Michael proffered his arm. “Shall we?”

If it was anyone else, I would have told them that I could walk on my own, thank you very much, but there was a hint of… anticipation maybe, coming through the bond that made me think this was just an excuse to keep touching me. I wrapped my arm through his, careful not to brush my fingers over the exposed skin on his wrist, and we made our way downstairs.