Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Asher

Not enough, that's what I felt. Nowhere near enough. Putting in a security system in a place like this was like trying to polish a turd, but here we were. Standing in a too-small room, too close to my mate, the bear shoving harder and harder to be free.

I reminded him that he wouldn't fit into this space if I let him come forth, that he'd hurt Imogen, or worse. Terrify her with his furry visage, because she had no way to anticipate that more than one soul lived within my body. So instead, I pointed to the motion sensors attached to the windows.

"The entire security system will be synced to your phone. With a click," I opened my own device and showed her an example of the video feed she'd get, "you'll be able to see exactly what's going on at your place. Is anyone trying the windows?" Her eyebrows shot up and she eyed the thin aluminium frames. "Has anyone smashed one to get in?"

"Is that likely?"

I could drown her in statistics, tell her about all the different acts of violence that were perpetrated across the city, but I didn't. That look of wariness was enough to stop me. Each time I saw it in her eyes, it made my heart ache. Most women would question a good Samaritan buying them groceries, but only ones who'd been treated badly would accept that gift with both reticence and abrasiveness. Imogen was waiting for the other shoe to drop, anticipating unconsciously the moment when the kindness would suddenly stop, or worse, reveal itself to be an act all along. My mate wasn't going to allow herself to be love bombed again, that helped ease my pain somewhat.

"Security isn't really about what's likely or not," I replied blandly. "It's about trying to prepare for any eventuality. This system will make sure you know if anyone is trying to get access to your place without your permission. So, let's go through the different features and how to use it."

It was lucky I'd had this conversation a million times before. My mouth was moving, saying the words while my mind was elsewhere. Following the shape of her body I traced with my eyes, reading her reactions, soaking in her responses. I felt like the bear was pressing too hard against my skin as we tracked her every movement, but when I leaned over to see if the system was syncing to her phone, my control began to shred.

I wanted to touch her. I wanted to tease that small curl of hair that had pulled free of her bun at the nape of her neck, see if it sprung back when stretched. I wanted to hear her suck in a breath as my fingers slid up her spine, ready to pull her hair free. I wanted to collar her throat, feeling her heart beating frantically against my palm, right before her head tilted sideways, revealing her neck to me. I wanted her with a violence, a passion, an intensity, I'd never felt before.

Because no woman had ever touched me.

Not mentally, not emotionally, but also not physically. Some had offered the latter, maybe some of the former, but I could never take them up, not when I knew she was out there.

"One day," Ursula had assured me. "One day you'll see that girl from across a crowded room." The cliche had me snorting. "One day you'll see the other half of your heart, and it'll all make sense."

She was right, of course. My fingers twitched, the need to touch Imogen and keep my damn hands to myself making the muscles spasm, not sure what to do, so they hung in the space behind her as we peered at the screen.

"You too," I'd told my sister. All the light went out of her eyes then, a familiar sadness settling over her.

"Maybe…" Her eyes dropped down. "But anyway, what the hell are you going to do when you find your fated mate? She could be anyone."

I hadn't had a plan then, and I was still struggling to create one now. Keep her safe, I swore to myself. I answered Imogen's questions and helped her flick through the different camera views until Kyle approached with the wine.

"Potatoes are boiling and dinner's got a way to go, so how about a celebratory drink? It might be a little low key as housewarming goes, but at least we brought practical gifts."

"Thanks." I watched Imogen accept the glass, then take an experimental sip, her eyes widening as she tasted the white wine.

"Good, right?"

My prompt had her bristling and the bear didn't care. See me, talk to me, react to me , my heart beat.

"Very good," she agreed. "So if we're waiting for dinner, I don't have a TV yet, so…" A slow grin formed. "I guess we go old school. How about a game of truth or dare?"

"I haven't played that one before," Lucas said, joining us in the living area. "How does it go?"

Us all sitting down around the rickety dining room table apparently.

"So, truth or dare," Imogen said, surveying us all with a smile.

"Truth," I replied, even as the others sucked in a breath to answer. It was what was sorely needed, even if we'd have to dance dangerously along the edge of telling her too much.

"What got you guys into working security and helping domestic violence victims?"

That was the most obvious question for her to ask and I had already been formulating responses in my head before she asked it, so I replied quickly.

"It's something I've always been passionate about," I replied. "I grew up with my family, had a happy home until…" The bear surged up, ready to take out any potential danger, always summoned by these memories, but I'd had plenty of practise in shoving him back down. I showed him the room, the food our mate had prepared, Imogen, and he allowed me to retain control. "Until my parents died. I was too young to identify my family and the relevant authorities didn't manage to find them until much later, so I went into the foster system."

Her eyes creased then, a familiar look of empathy on her face, but it was her hand sliding closer that surprised me. Her too by the look of it, because she stopped herself from gripping mine.

"While I don't think all or even most foster parents do anything other than their best to care for kids in their care, mine… Mine and Ursula's foster parents left a lot to be desired." I nodded slowly. "What happened there made me protective of her, her friends, of all women, and when I got older, children too. When I see hurt kids, I…" A quick mouthful of wine, the sour/sweet taste washing over my palate, bringing moisture to a dry surface. "I see us. I don't want any child to go through what we did, and I'll do everything I can to ensure that's the case."

"Us too." Kyle smiled at Imogen when he got her attention. "Not the foster care thing, but… My parents fostered Asher so we grew up together, and he sucked us in with his vision."

"Whatever we can do to make things better."

Lucas looked too pale as he took a sip of his wine. The job, what I put him through making him my sleuth mate, it took enough out of him to make me reconsider my plan.

But not for long.

This is what I had to do, and I just couldn't stop, no matter what obstacles life put in my way. So I turned to Imogen and asked her the same question she'd asked me.

"Truth or dare?"

"Definitely truth." The faint flush in her cheeks was… interesting. "I don't know you guys well enough yet to let you dare me. Maybe you'll have me walking around the kitchen pretending to be a chicken."

"What did you want to be when you grew up?" Kyle asked smoothly, robbing me of my turn. "Was it working in a supermarket?"

"No." She looked at him askance for even suggesting that. "Nothing wrong with it, obviously. Someone has to do the job. We all need groceries." She leaned forward, arms crossed around her glass. "I wanted…" She looked sideways at us, as if trying to anticipate our response. "I wanted to be an art teacher. I loved art at school and thought teaching kids to paint would've been awesome."

"Not that." Everyone told me I was excellent at reading people, able to pick up tiny micro-expressions, and I saw them now. It was in her voice, her stance. This was a revised, cut down, cultivated dream, one she'd adapted from the first real one. "You wanted something else first. Something…"

Imogen frowned, shooting me a look that was not friendly before sighing.

"OK, if you're gonna be that picky. I wanted to be an artist." Her eyes dropped down, and she traced strange shapes on the worn wood of the tabletop. "I wanted to paint and draw all damn day, lose myself in creating, forget the whole world existed." A social smile was slapped on as she faced us again. "But my mum was clear there was no money to be made that way, so I needed to find something more practical to do." Her lips pursed, but she forged on. "In the end, I didn't do either, so… now that we've gotten the obligatory work conversation over, who's next?"

I loved the way she leaned back in her chair, arm slung over the back. It made me think there was something just a little cocky about our girl in the right circumstances.

"Truth or dare?" she asked.

Kyle leaned forward, crossing his arms and placing them on the table with a kind of easy grin I frankly envied.

"Dare."