Page 23 of Robb

“We’re not going to the beach,” Robb said.

Tahnee pouted. “Spoilsport.”

Not that she could say she was surprised. She barely knew Robb, but she did know that he wasn’t exactly the romantic evening beach walk type.

“It’s not safe,” Robb went on, sounding almost reluctant. Like he wanted to go for a walk on a soggy beach with her, and was barely hanging on to his sensible-to-a-fault persona by his fingernails. “We need to get to the safehouse and lie low until we know what’s going on.”

She had to admit that they had just been attacked by a couple of juiced-up shifters, and lost their powers into the bargain. Maybe wandering around in the dark wasn’t the smartest choice.

“Okay,” she said, with only a small sigh. “I suppose the beach will still be there tomorrow.”

Robb looked mildly surprised at her acquiescence, and Tahnee wondered if he’d wanted her to argue with him for a bit.

But then he nodded decisively. “Well, obviously it will be. And we needed to get off the tram around here, anyway. The place we’re going is just down one of these back streets.”

“Lead the way,” Tahnee said, and Robb did just that, striding purposefully down the street. Tahnee hurried to catch up to him, noting with concern that she could see the wound the crocodile had given him through the shredded back of his jacket.

It was still sluggishly oozing blood, and while it didn’t look like he was in any danger of bleeding out, it was worrying. Infection and injuries that didn’t heal properly were things that shifters generally didn’t have to think about, but if the wound was deep and his powers weren’t working, Robb could end up with some nasty scarring, or worse.

And the undercurrent of tension between them was growing by the minute. It wasn’t a bad tension per se, but she knew that at some point her bottled-up energy was going to come bursting out of her in some form or another, for better or worse.

Tahnee hoped that it would be for better. She was, she realized, starting to feel very pent up, and she really wanted to let loose. She’d hadn’t really understood how much all those years of repressing her feelings for her mate had been building up an almost animal urge inside of her.

And it didn’t really help that her brolga was squawking in her ear about it, either.

How can you simply stand here while your mate is wounded, it yowled, feathers fluffing in avian fury – and Tahnee had to admit it had a point. Tend him. Remove his clothes and render him aid. Delicately strip the clothing from his bare skin and tenderly rub lotions and ointments upon his injuries. Can you not see he longs for your touch? Only a mate can provide what he needs.

I know that, Tahnee snapped at the brolga. But do you really want me to start stripping him right here in the middle of the street? What he needs – and what I need – is better kept behind closed doors, isn’t it? Or have you developed an exhibitionist kink I wasn’t previously aware of?

That shut the brolga up at least – for now – but not Tahnee’s own rising heat as she watched the steady movement of the muscles of Robb’s back and shoulders. Had he gotten somehow even more broad and sturdy than he had been twenty-five years ago?

Searching for a distraction, Tahnee looked around as they walked, and let out a low whistle of appreciation. “For somewhere with a less than stellar reputation, St Kilda sure seems to have a lot of nice houses.”

The streets were lined with a hodgepodge of dwellings, with plain, ’60s-style brick apartment blocks nestled amongst an array of cute cottages and gorgeous art deco mansions. Trees lined the quiet street, some stark and bare in the winter cold, others green and glistening from the recent rain.

Tahnee eyed a particularly lovely mansion and its attendant palm trees longingly. “I’m guessing it would be too much to suppose that the Agency just keeps a mansion on hand in case they need to use it as a safehouse?”

Robb turned his head to look at her, his expression giving nothing away.

“See for yourself,” he said solemnly, and Tahnee realized that they’d come to a stop.

Looking up, she allowed herself to hope for a moment… although, really, she wasn’t sure why.

Boxy brick ’60s nightmare it is, then, she thought with an internal sigh.

“Looks great,” she said with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel, and she saw the slightest hint of surprise on Robb’s face… but then again, she supposed, she wasn’t feeling that unenthusiastic about it. It was somewhere warm and dry – she hoped, anyway – that she could hole up in with her mate. Anything else was just a distraction from the important stuff.

Still, it was with a hint of longing that she allowed her gaze to linger on the mansion for a few more seconds, before following Robb up three flights of concrete steps.

We’ll be spending the night together, she thought dizzily. Me and my mate. After all this time.

She suddenly found that she needed to grasp the handrail as she climbed the steps, her knees feeling a little wobbly.

It’s been a long day, she told herself ruthlessly, as her brolga strutted up and down in her mind, puffing up its feathers and crooning Nest with him. Nest with your mate. That was the only reason she was a little unsteady on her feet. No other reason.

And if her chest felt a little tight, well, she was climbing stairs. Of course breathing would be a little harder.

Your lack of self-insight is pathetic, the brolga said with an eyeroll. You want to nest with him. That is the reason for your pounding heart and wobbly legs.