I thought it was so I wouldn't see the look on his face.
Until he grabbed the counter and broke it in half--sending my cash register and a pile of receipts and bookkeeping stuff boiling to the floor.
Oddly, my first reaction to the violence was the dismayed recognition that without Gabriel, it would be my job to figure out how all those papers needed to be reorganized to keep the IRS off my back.
Then Adam howled.
An unearthly sound to come out of a man's throat--I'd only heard it once before out of a wolf's.
My foster father, Bryan, when he held his wife, his mate's body, in his hands.
I took a step toward him--and Sam was standing between us, his head lowered in readiness.
The door between my office and the garage is steel set in steel.
After Sam's entrance, it was also bent and broken, dangling from one hinge.
I hadn't heard it go; I'd only been able to hear Adam.
Who had made no sound, I realized.
His cry had hit me from a different place altogether, where our bond tied me to him and him to me.
Adam didn't turn around.
"Don't be afraid of me," he whispered.
"Don't leave me." No lies between us.
I blew out a breath, took a couple steps back, and flopped in one of the battered chairs that lined the wall, trying, with my casual pose, to defuse the situation.
"Adam, I don't have the sense to be afraid of Sam in the state he's in now.
I don't know why you think I'd be smart enough to be afraid of you." It would be smarter to be more afraid of a werewolf so upset that he took out a counter Zee had built than of a little paperwork and the IRS.
"Ask Samuel to leave us." "Sam?" I asked.
He'd heard Adam.
He growled, and Adam returned the favor.
With interest.
"Sam," I said, exasperated.
"He's my mate.
He's not going to hurt me.
Go away." Sam looked at me, then returned his attention to Adam's back.
I could see that back tighten up as if Adam could feel Sam's gaze.
Maybe he could.
"Why don't you go see what Zee is up to?" I asked.
"You're not helping here." Sam whined.