"You lied to me."
The sentence was supposed to be steel. It came out cracked.
Her eyes filled. The filling was instantaneous, involuntary, the kind that happened before the brain could intervene and tell the tear ducts to stand down. She blinked and the blink cost her because two tears slipped and she couldn't take them back.
"I'm sorry Fin. I lied to myself first." Her voice came out hoarse, much rougher than she realized it would. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "You're the last person I want to hurt."
The matebond was screaming.
His anger slammed into her so hard she winced, which her ribs punished her for.
Fin's hands were shaking.
He looked down at them. Watched them tremble against the desk like they belonged to a different man, a man whose body had decided that the composure the brain was demanding was a price it was no longer willing to pay.
