Page 84 of Twisted Ties
“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my mate.”
“And you’re so close, right? She tells you everything?”
Maybe he’s becoming more adept at irritating me after all. “She wasn’t lying about this.”
Tristan smiles and takes a step towards me, and I note the slight limp to his gait. He took a beating and neither he, nor the matron, have been able to heal him completely.
“But she does lie, doesn’t she? Like I’m guessing she told you she was going back to her dorm last night, and that she’d stay there, nice and safe, all night long. That she certainly wouldn’t go out …” He smiles, all cold sarcasm, and I wonder what happened to that cute kid full of over-brimming excitement. “Wouldn’t leave the campus.”
My blood runs cold. The gnawing ache in my stomach, so strong I’m grinding my teeth. Strong, like she isn’t here, like she’s far away.
“If you have something to say, spit it out, Tristan.”
His brow furrows and hatred sparks in his eyes. Hatred. He never used to look at me like that. When he was a kid those cold eyes of his would light up every time he saw me. He looked at me with admiration back then.
And while that admiration has faded over the years, he’s certainly never looked at me with hate before.
Is it because of the girl? Does he think like them? Doeshe see her as a stain on the good old family name? Does he really care about that shit now? Does he think the way our fathers do?
It pains me.
“Me? I don’t have anything to say.” He stalks off. I think about calling him back, demanding he give me answers. But that ache is deep and painful and I don’t like it.
Her dorm room is empty when I arrive a matter of minutes later and when I snoop around, I see her bag is missing and some of her clothes.
She’s gone.
For a moment it’s like someone’s reached into my chest and wrenched out my heart.
I peer down at my chest.
She doesn’t trust me. Doesn’t want me.
A possessive growl rumbles in my throat. It doesn’t matter. She’s mine. The bond has been sealed. She can’t just run away from it.
I bunch my hands into fists and storm from the dorm building. There are students on the path now and they scatter out of my way, whispering behind their hands and eyeing me with excitement. A werebeast yesterday. The authorities’ enforcer today. They can barely disguise their excitement.
I reach the building that houses Tristan’s apartment and peer up at the penthouse. Bet he’s expecting me.
I sprint up the stairs and pound on his door, so hard the thing wobbles in the frame. When he answers the door, he’s dressed in just gray sweatpants, a joint hanging between his lips. His torso is black and blue and another bandage covers one side of his ribs.
He takes a long exaggerated drag, his eyes darting over my face, then blows smoke out of the side of his mouth.
“A second visit in one day? I am honored.”
“Where the hell is she?”
“This again.” He shakes his head and pads across the room in his bare feet, leaving the door open behind him. I step in after him. If he doesn’t tell me in the next five seconds, I’m going to add a considerable number of bruises to his body, pound him until he starts speaking.
“Tell me,” I growl through gritted teeth.
He drops down onto a couch, resting his arm on his bent knee, the tip of his spliff smoldering. He looks at me, rolling the spliff between his fingers, then takes another drag.
“Why did you do it?” he asks, his eyes are less hostile now, tempered by the weed. “Why did you claim her?”
I hesitate, debating what will earn me an answer faster, my fists or the truth.
“To save her. To save her life.”
