The explosion defusing didn't keep us from being at each other's throats for the rest of the evening. I blatantly refused to sleep anywhere other than the bed. He said the same. It didn't matter which one of us snarled or swore more. The other wouldn't budge.

"You didn't bring me anything to sleep in," I accused, searching for a new barb to jab at him. "Milo is going to know if I show up wearing clothes I slept in and I've already been in Keiko's clothes for far too long. You can't throw a filthy girl at him and expect him to not be suspicious."

"Then borrow mine," he ground out. He was already digging through his duffle bag before I could even open my mouth. A University of Alberta sweatshirt was tossed at me along with a pair of boxers and some grey sweatpants.

"You just have extras on hand?" I asked. The hostility that had been in my voice wavered, leaving something softer behind. I could smell his scent along with a botanical detergent.

"Even before you, I was on the road a lot. I don't really have a home base. The majority of what I have is in here," he stated.

I turned and walked to the bathroom before I could allow myself to say anything or even just to think about what he had said. living out of a duffle bag, driving from one town to the next, because your home base was gone. Destroyed. I knew the feeling. Pressing on, living life like everyone else around you was not an option.

I remembered all those nights staring at the ceiling, wondering how I would ever heal from what had been done to my family. I was scared to check the date, like I had been scared of the dark as a child. Life had marched on and I was being left behind. I couldn't escape it, no matter how hard I worked, no matter how fast of a car I drove.

And now... I felt like I was right back where I had started from.

I shook the thoughts out of my head and climbed into the shower. The water was a little more refreshing since I didn't have an impatient queen waiting for me this time. I scrubbed my skin with the provided bar of soap and could almost hear my mother demanding to know it's ingredients. Then I lathered my copper colour hair and rinsed until I felt every bit of the cell and the shed leave my skin.

For a moment after my shower, I just stood in front of the foggy mirror. I could see nothing more than my silhouette. I didn't see the lines of my muscles, the shade of my eyes, or the gnarled tangles in my hair. Just a vague outline of a person. And for a moment, just for a second, I wished that I had been like my brother. I wished that I had picked up the tatters of my life that were salvageable and moved on. I could have been anyone by now. Could have lived in a sprawling country home, or tiny apartment in the city. Could have driven an Audi coupe or a dodge minivan. Could have been a lawyer, a teacher, a nurse. A dermatologist like mom.

And that is where the train of thought faltered. Moving on meant leaving them behind. That was not an option, would never be an option.

I hacked the small, hotel-provided comb through my hair before considering Ryder's clothes that I had left the on the counter.

It felt so intimate as I slid the cotton sweatshirt over my head. I kept my features neutral as if invisible beings would see and judge my reaction, but having his clothes brush my skin, having his scent swirl around me, it did something to my head. It only worsened as I stepped into the boxers and tugged on his pants. I just gritted my teeth and left the steamy room.

Ryder didn't spare me a second glance. As soon as I sat on the bed, he was off his side, going to shower himself.

He left the television on. A sports channel played back at me, showing me slow-motion reruns of mountain bikers getting throttled down a hill. It was a bizarre thing to watch. They looked like they were holding on for dear life and letting gravity do what it pleased, but there was control in some moments, like it was more about choosing when to struggle and when to simply be. The screen changed to a podium shot. First the women's category, the three of them filthy and dusty, but grinning like mad.

Then the men's category, all of them just as dirty as the next. A single bottle of champagne was open and sprayed. I blinked. And I saw Ryder there, at the top of the podium, laughing with goggles around his neck and sweat keeping his dark hair flat against his forehead. Then I blinked again and it was just some average man with an average smile up there.

I pretended to be entirely disinterested in the TV when he returned, rolling onto my side so my back was to him but still thoroughly staking my claim on the bed. He ignored me and just switched off the tv and the lamp before crawling under the covers. I kept my mouth shut despite the venom growing in my throat. There was a pinch of quiet. I could practically hear him begging me to say something. I refused.

I refused to say anything at all. If he wanted to fight over the bed again, he was going to have to start it.

I stared straight ahead, focusing only on my breathing and his. Was mine too fast? Did he know how I was feeling right now just from how quickly my chest rose and fell? Was he falling asleep? Or was he going to give up and climb out of the bed to sleep in the chair? I felt like each time I went to clear my thoughts and refocus, they only came back stronger.

Through the open curtains I could spy the full moon. Ryder said that the werewolves no longer depended on the full moon for their powers. To a degree, I had already known that. Hunting at night was dangerous. I had only shot down wolves during broad day light so clearly the old lore was no longer accurate. But how much did I really know about them? How much did Armond and Dawn know about them?

I knew that there were mates. I knew that separating them could be deadly. But I never knew that something as simple and as common as sex could change the bond between two people. Though it hadn't been simple and common sex. It had stolen everything from me. it had taken away what I thought was right and correct. And the connection between us was stronger. I knew it the moment I wanted to get in Keiko's face as she tried to comfort Ryder.

His breathing had gotten evener from beside me, peppered with a light snore occasionally.

This man was the reason I was going to turn Milo in. he was also the very reason I was alive. Keiko would have gutted me like a fish otherwise, or maybe just let one of her many guards do it instead. There was no denying what he said earlier, that he was burning down bridges to keep me alive.

But I could not knowingly trade myself for Milo. He had given up. He had gotten out. I couldn't suck him down into a disaster that I created. He didn't deserve it for a second. And Keiko would not have to be gentle with him. There would be no one to protect him. I could do nothing.

Ryder had left his car keys on his night stand. My body jerked upright into a sitting position before I could think better of it. then I froze, mentally cursing my foolishness. Ryder body jerked then and I realized that I was screwed. Then he went still again. A twitch of the hand, a crease between the eyebrows. Then stillness. Lips parted. His head tossed to one side. Stillness again, his eyes still closed. A strangled noise left his mouth. A leg kicked outwards.

I held my breath, watching it all.

Then he started screaming.

My first reaction was to leap back, darting out of the bed as if it had caught fire. Something primal in my gut changed then. Hearing his cries like that, seeing his distress, it did something to me that I didn't understand. My body moved under its own influence, going to his side of the bed. He jerked again, his entire body rolling to the other side. His erratic movements didn't stop me from reaching out and placing both palms on either side of his face.

"Ryder," I whispered.

His eyes burst open, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. My hold dropped as he sat up and I took a step back. He frantically surveyed the space around him, hands clutching at the sheets, so aware that he wasn't at home, but nowhere was really home for him. Slowly, ever so slowly, his body loosened.

"It was a nightmare," he said, reassuring himself. The strength sucked out of him, he fell back against the bed.

I sat on the edge. "Whatever you saw, it didn't happen. It wasn't real," I soothed. I wanted to run my hands through his hair or cradle his head in my arms, but stayed perfectly still instead. It was just the mate bond. Nothing more. I could fight it.

"But it was," he whispered. "It was the moment when I found my parents. It was the first second of seeing them. I begged them to open their eyes. Even with all of the blood. Even though it was so clear that they were dead, I begged them to talk to me. fuck, I held both of them and told them it was going to be okay and they were already..." A shaky hand reached up, pushing his hair back from his face. His throat worked as he swallowed hard. "Can you hold me, George?" he blurted.

I physically recoiled, so stunned by the ask.

"You're my mate. It'll help calm me down," he explained, a little frantically. "I just—"

"Move over," I said into the darkness. And when his body shifted away from the edge of the bed to roll onto his side, I laid down beside him and draped an arm over his waist. The little sigh of relief that he gave me was enough to encourage me to curl my legs behind his and rest my forehead against the back of his tee shirt.

The keys on his nightstand were long forgotten.

~~~Question of the Day~~~

Are you a listener or a talker?