Page 25 of Mysterious Mate

“What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

Willow shook her head, her shoulders hunching as if she could make herself smaller. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He frowned, his desire to help her warring with the knowledge that he should probably leave well enough alone. But he wasn’t about to do that. Not when she looked so broken. She was his fated mate, and she would learn that the strength of that bond and her mate was more than enough to keep her safe and happy.

“Try me,” he urged. “I’m actually a good listener.”

She shook her head again, her hair falling forward to hide her face. “I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”

Cage leaned in closer, his voice soft but insistent. “Willow, you’re not a burden.” He suppressed the urge to tell her she was his mate. That declaration would lead to a whole other discussion he wasn’t ready to have. Instead, he said, “Please, talk to me.”

For a moment, he thought she might refuse again, but then she took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the glass.

“My husband,” she began slowly, “wasn’t a very nice man. Not to me or anybody else.”

Cage felt a surge of anger on her behalf but kept silent, letting her continue at her own pace. “I have no doubt about that. He is—and soon will be, was—an arms dealer.”

She gave him a wane smile. “True enough. Are you sure you want to hear this?” Cage nodded. “Last night, I had a nightmare about him,” she said softly. “For the record, my dreams about him aren’t anything like the ones I have about you. But I digress, in the dream, I had to face him at a trial, and he tried to kill me. He was frothing at the mouth, clamoring to get over the bailiffs and his attorneys. It was awful.”

Was there any chance Frank could be a shifter? Cage doubted it, as the Resistance had vetted him thoroughly, but maybe she’d seen something that had given her a hint about the members of the Shadow League, and it was filtering into her nightmares. He did, however, like the idea that she had sexy dreams about him. God knew he had them about her. Masturbating in the shower had become a daily thing. Maybe sometime they could discuss them and see if they were the same.

Cage unclenched the fists he held at his sides. He wanted to reach out, to offer her comfort, but he stayed still, knowing she needed to get this out.

“I hope you know, I’d never allow that to happen,” he said quietly.

Willow turned to look at him, a sad smile on her lips. “You’re just the butler and my babysitter, Cage. Sure, you carry a gun, and all the real security people answer to you, but what could you really do?”

Her words stung, though he knew she didn’t mean them to. She had no idea who he really was—what he was—and what he was capable of. He didn’t need a gun to kill Frank Carlyle. Maybe that was the solution. Maybe he just needed to make a little visit to wherever Carlyle was holing up and take him down… permanently. Cage couldn’t tell her about his full skill set, including his ability to shift into a grizzly bear and shred her ex into little pieces with his claws. Instead, he met her gaze steadily.

“I’d find a way,” he said simply.

For a moment, their eyes locked, and something unspoken passed between them. Then Willow looked away, and the moment was gone.

“Come on,” Cage said softly. “It’s time for dinner.”

They walked back into the house together, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. That evening, there was no teasing from Willow. She wore a pair of sweatpants and a matching t-shirt, the soft fabric emphasizing her curves but not in the way her usual attire did. Cage noticed, though, how even in her more modest clothes, her beauty shone through. But there was a sadness about her that hadn’t been there before, and it pained him to see it.

Throughout dinner, Cage watched her from his seat at the other end of the table. She picked at her food, her eyes downcast, and he felt an unsettling ache in his chest. Why was he resisting? Why didn’t he just take what she was so clearly offering?

After dinner, they went to their respective rooms. As Cage lay in his bed, he couldn’t shake the image of Willow’s sad eyes from his mind. He swore he could hear the muffled sound of her crying into her pillow, and it tore at him in ways he hadn’t expected. He knew he wanted her; knew he wanted to pull her beneath him and sink his cock into her, but he hadn’t expected wanting to go to her when she was hurting, to hold her and tell her everything would be alright. But he couldn’t, at least not yet.

Cage stared at the ceiling, the sound of her sobs echoing in his ears. The urge to protect her, to comfort her, was overwhelming, but he knew he had to tread carefully. Willow was fragile right now, and he couldn’t afford to make a wrong move. Interpol was going to need her to testify, and the Resistance might have questions that only she could answer.

With a heavy sigh, Cage rolled onto his side, his thoughts consumed by the woman in the next room. He had to find a way to help her, to show her that she wasn’t alone. And he would. No matter what it took.

The next morning, Cage woke early, the remnants of the previous night’s turmoil still lingering. He went through his usual routine, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying the conversation by the pool over and over. Willow’s words haunted him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to do something more.

He spoke briefly with his tech guys and asked that they start trying to track down just where Frank Carlyle might be. If Cage decided to move against him, and he knew the Resistance was considering snatching him and getting him to flip on the Shadow League, they would need to know where Frank was.

As he made his way downstairs, he found Willow already in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hands. She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes betraying her sleepless night. She managed a small smile when she saw him, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Good morning,” Cage said, trying to keep his voice gentle.

“Morning,” she replied, her tone subdued.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and joined her at the table. For a while, they sat in silence, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall.

“Did you sleep at all?” Cage asked, breaking the silence.

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