Page 12 of The Wolf's Kidnapped Mate

I studied the roman numerals tattooed on his fingers. The ones on his right hand had always been there. But the ones on his left hand—the same hand holding his nose—were new. “Where did you get those?”

He coughed and then revealed the speck of crimson under his nose. “Uh, from just now, genius. You head-butted me.”

“I didn’t even feel the—” I grimaced while bowing toward my knees. Oops, there it went.The pain. I felt it snap right through my eyes like a botched lobotomy. “Sweet goodgoddess, that’s awful, wow.”

A disgruntled snort signaled his position—to my right a few feet away from me—and the sound of a door squeaking lightly told me he was going somewhere. Strange. I hadn’t noticed any other doors in here. But this was a new building, and I hadn’t ever been in here, and it seemed to be a playground for Fred, so—

“All that Krav Maga and you still manage to be a klutz.”

I blinked up at him, clearing the spots in my vision. The pain wasn’t as intense, but the lingering effect of slamming my skull against his had certainly cracked something open between us.

He shook a bag of ice in front of my face. “Hello.Take it. Seriously, Mullen Two. Worse than your damn brother.”

I snatched the bag from him and plopped it against my forehead. Cool relief had me sighing within seconds. “Don’t you talk about my brother like that.”

“Sends me one Christmas card, one postcard with that stupid pinup on it, and then lumps you into the equation.”

The bag slid down enough for me to peer up at Fred. “What?”

Fred glared at me. I mean, he really gave me this hard stare like he was trying to laser through the bag of ice and get into my skull. Was he trying to read my mind?

I lowered the bag. “We’re civilians now, aren’t we?”

“Just me.”

“I’m not in an active operation.” I played with the bag. “Nobody wants to give me a mission. I’m in hiding.”

Fred nodded slowly, absently. “Sure. Nobody wants to compromise your position.”

“Correct. Civilian.”

“You’re not a civilian, genius.”

I snarled. “Would you stop calling me that?”

“Would you stop acting like a genius?”

I gestured widely at his collection of…well, I supposed I could just call them plants. “Want to explain this to me?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“When did this happen?”

He shrugged, averting his gaze. “Years ago. Whatever.”

“Four years ago?”

His gaze sharpened but he still didn’t look at me. “Yeah, something like that.”

I thought about the roman numerals on his fingers, and then it hit me. I stood up, wobbled a bit, and then planted my hands on my hips. “Those tattoos are your exit date.”

“Real quick on that sniper, aren’t you, genius?”

“I swear to theheavens, if you so much as think of that word in conjunction with me again—”

Fred exploded with chuckles. They were shocking sounds coming from such a stern guy, but boy, did they break the ice of my irritation. I already had ice. I didn’t need more ice from his attitude, so the laugh—so full of life and warmth—really eased my anxiety.

When he was through laughing, he wiped his face. Goodness, he couldn’t be any stranger than he had been growing up.

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