as it was. She’d positively freak if he suddenly became a LexTal.
But then again, the Dalshie threat had been neutralized—or at least, they thought so. Everyone was still on edge, even though it had been a few months since the final attack, since the Rengalla had decided to take the fight to the Dalshie, successfully eliminating every enemy they knew of. The trouble was that they couldn’t be sure they’d gotten all of them.
There could be more, and they could be out there, regrouping in their quest to hunt down every Rengalla on the planet.
“Tell Suz hi for me,” Mason called just before Graham turned the corner.
Fuck.
“Also, that second skin of yours should fade in no time.”
“Shut up.”
“Really,” Mason said loudly. “No one will notice. I’m just very observant and—” Graham turned around, narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“You’re a fucking pain in my ass.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Graham could swear the fucker fluttered his eyelids, and just because he could—and also maybe because he couldn’t stand the cat-ate-the-canary expression on Mason’s face—he flicked his magic.
Just the slightest flip of air magic.
Just enough to push Mason’s foot when he turned and started to go back inside his rooms.
Just enough to make the dumbass stumble over a solid block of air . . . that disappeared even as Mason tripped. Unfortunately for Graham, Mason had two brothers who were notorious for their mischievousness and Mason was well-trained and quick on his feet. Which meant he didn’t land flat on his face as Graham had hoped.
He did look like he was attempting to dance a very awkward dance, at least for a few seconds.
So at least that was something.
“Fuck you, Graham!” Mason hollered.
“You’re not my type,” he yelled back. “Not pretty enough.”
Seven
Suz
He was standing there.
Staring.
As if she didn’t feel him blaring in the back of her mind, driving her absolutely crazy as she tried to finish her work. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but Graham was propping up the wall outside her office—not intruding in a physical sense, or at least not crossing the threshold.
Just standing there.
Waiting.
Patiently.
Yes, she’d said that correctly.
Patiently.
A feeling she could be absolutely certain of because he was in her mind! Just hanging out there, a warm glow, a masculine presence waiting in both the mental and physical realms.
And again, not impatiently.
She couldn’t remember a time anyone had waited for her to finish her charting patiently, most of all a man who clearly wanted to speak with her.
But there was no sighing or foot tapping, nor any annoyed shifting of body language.
He just stood there.
And waited.
What in the ever-loving fuck was she going to do?
Especially as her work was taking about ten times longer than it should have because she kept glancing up to confirm he hadn’t moved—he hadn’t, not since he’d traipsed into the infirmary about five minutes after Gabby. It also didn’t help that her mind kept probing at his presence in the back of her brain—also reassuring (ugh, reassuring!) herself that he hadn’t moved.
Which, of course, she’d firmly established he hadn’t and wasn’t likely to and—
“You’re like a tiny tornado in my brain,” Graham murmured, speaking for the first time, making her jump and nearly sending her clinging to the ceiling.
She tore her eyes away from where she’d been admiring the way his T-shirt settled over his pecs, emphasizing his strength without being too tight. Considering she’d kissed her way across that chest not too long before, had been held against the planes of his body, been lifted so easily into his arms, she considered herself an expert on the proper way to display that chest.
And she approved it being displayed via snug-fitting cotton.
A curl of amusement in her mind.
Not from her own brain.
Her eyes flew to his, to the golden irises now sparking with humor . . . and with knowledge.
Knowledge that he’d known what she was thinking.
“I’m a fan of snug-fitting cotton myself,” he murmured into the bond—was it even possible to murmur so silkily and sexily into a mental connection? Regardless if it were possible or not, the man had done it, and his voice was so crystal clear in her brain that she would have sworn he’d spoken aloud.
Except it was more intimate, as though the words were brushing along the inside of her skin.
“How?” she said. “How did this happen?”
Misery and joy in equal measures slid through her.
She couldn’t possibly be what this man wanted—whom he wanted to be tied to for an eternity. And that wasn’t