Reed didn’t like Vinny. Or Serena. Or anyone who dared come between us. But if he was coming here, into Logan’s house, that meant this wasn’tpermanent. It meant Vinnywouldcome. It meant someone would hold me and I would finally feel safe again.
Even if Logan still refused to let me have my bunny.
The stylist stepped back. Logan’s hands replaced hers, settling heavily on my shoulders to hold me upright.
The world around me dissolved into a blur of muted color; I couldn’t make out the stylist’s expression through the haze.
“Mr. Stellar,” she said carefully, “Mrs. Stellar doesn’t have much color for me to work with.”
“Yeah, because that fucking heat clinic is full of shit,” Logan snapped. “They promised me she’d be glowing. Does she look glowing to you?”
His fingers tightened, as if I were something mechanical he could adjust with enough pressure. But no matter how he tried to position me, I doubted I’d ever have color in my cheeks again, not without my alphas.
My stomach felt stretched so tight I could barely breathe. I dropped a hand to the swell, rubbing absently through the silk of my robe. I hadn’t meant to draw attention to it. I’d only wanted to relieve the pressure.
The instant my palm made contact, Logan changed.
One hand slid down my arm, raising goosebumps in its wake before settling over my stomach. My head tipped back slightly as I tried to read his expression through the blur.
His breath hitched, sharp and involuntary, as if he’d been struck. His other hand bracketed my waist, pulling me closer.
For years, the smallest misstep had earned me discipline.
Now he was nuzzling my neck and purring.
Part of me almost wished he would just hit me. At least that would make sense.
His nose dragged slowly along my throat as he inhaled deeply, as though committing me to memory.
“You don’t smell like much today,” he murmured. “Maybe we should cancel. If you’re not feeling well, you should be in bed.”
His palm flattened over my stomach, fingers splayed wide, claiming.
Fear pierced straight through me.
For years, “not feeling well” had never spared me. I’d attended meetings with fevers. Stood beside him with a split lip, concealer packed thick over the bruise. Learned to keep smiling while the room spun.
Illness had always been an inconvenience.
Now, when I wanted something—when I needed to see my brother—he was smoothing instead of snapping.
No.
I shook my head and forced myself straighter, stretching my lips into what I hoped resembled a smile.
“What?” Logan asked softly, going deadly still.
I had no voice. No phone. No easy way to answer.
So I let instinct guide me.
My hands trembled as I covered his and pressed them harder against my stomach, forcing him to feel the tight curve beneath my skin.
I’d tried this last night, hoping to earn my rabbit back. It hadn’t worked.
But Logan cared about appearances more than anything. Would he really pass up the opportunity to parade me in front of my brother?
Never.