Delivering a plate heaping with bloody steaks to the tiger sprawled on my downstairs sofa is another surreal experience to add to the many I’ve lived over the past couple of days, but Ezra still refuses to eat as a human. At least he’s shifting into his human form to use the bathroom. I should be grateful for that. I’m not. This man is even more stubborn than my lover who doesn’t believe in love.
I set the plate of seared, basically raw steaks on the end table, then cross my arms. “You’re acting like a baby. You know that, right?”
The low, menacing snarl trickling from the tiger’s mouth raises the hair on the back of my neck, but I force myself to tap my foot while glaring at Ezra’s tiger. Arguing with my protector is better than worrying about Ilan out there with an assassin stalking him. Thankfully, he has his own protector. From the little I know of Dante, he’s a fierce one.
“I couldn’t care less how much of a mess you make eating. I’ve worked at the Black Widow since I turned eighteen. Drunks are slobs. They make a mess. I clean it up. No biggie. You doing so wouldn’t bother me in the least, and I certainly wouldn’t think less of you if you did make a mess. But this”—I wave, encompassing his huge cat form—“does lower my opinion of you. You’re using your cat form as a shield, and it’s making you look like a coward.”
The words hurt to say, but our earlier encounter reaffirmed my guess as to why he spends most of his days as a cat. He’s wallowing in self-pity. I can’t help but wonder how long he’s lived like this, maybe even hated his human side because of his blindness. It breaks my heart. We have to accept ourselves—even the flawed aspects of our lives—in order to grow into the people we were always meant to be.
Faster than I can process, Ezra shifts and grabs my neck, not hurting me but holding me with enough pressure to remind me pain is only a squeeze of his hand away. He bends closer, and his hot breath bathes my face. “You, woman, are the rudest human I’ve ever met. Didn’t your parents ever tell you to treat those with disabilities nicely? We’re not as strong as everyone else.”
“Liar.” I spit the word at him. “You’re deadly, the best protector I could have. Ilan told me that. He trusts you to guard me and Soren. He trusts you, Ezra. There’s no greater proof of your strength than to have a man like Ilan trust you with the two people who mean the world to him.”
Ezra releases me as quickly as he grabbed me. I stumble backward while he turns and runs a hand over his head, messing his shaggy locks even more. “He trusts my cats, not me. They’re honed hunters, deadlier than most shifters’ animals, and wickedly protective of innocents.”
“You look through their eyes. Don’t you?”
“Yes. Hunters they may be, but they’re wild animals. I can’t give them free rein.”
“Then let them look through your eyes when you’re in your human form.”
Ezra glances over his shoulder. His gaze skips haphazardly over the area behind him before settling on a spot a few feet away from me. “My human eyes don’t work. It doesn’t matter if I try to use them or if they do.”
“Sight isn’t the only way to see.” I’m improvising big-time here. I don’t know what it’s like to be blind, nor do I know anyone who is sightless, but my thoughts make sense, and if they help Ezra, all the better. “Smell, sound, and touch are forms of sight. Using those together can give you insight into your surroundings. Allow your cats to see through those senses.”
Silence stretches between us for a long moment before Ezra’s nostrils flare. He tilts his head slightly, then raises his gaze to mine, meeting my eyes. Of course he can’t see the excitement in them. I know that, but I want to jump for joy at the confirmation he took my somewhat uneducated but gut-instinct advice.
“Ilan is a lucky man to have found you.”
A smile tugs at my lips, and my eyes prick with wetness. “I’m what he needs.”
“Never knew an angel would need his own angel.” Ezra shakes his head, then pats the back of the couch until his fingers make contact with the track pants I left there for him. He manages to pull them on—backward, but they’re still on—and faces me. “Please shove the laundry basket to the side so I can walk to the door without tripping over it.”
“Of course.” I push the basket into the far corner. “Done.”
“Thank you.” Ezra strides forward with a hand out in front of him. “I’m going to sit outside for a little bit. Get some fresh air. I hate being cooped up inside.” He fumbles with the lock, then opens the door. “Yell if you need me.”
“Okay. You do the same.”
Without looking at me, Ezra dips his head. Then he’s gone. The door shuts. I stand there a moment longer, then make my way upstairs. I need to prep some bottles. Soren should be waking soon for another snack.
The moment I reach the second floor, my cell phone rings. I run into my bedroom and snatch it off the charger. “Hello?”
“I waited for you, Sara, but you never showed. How do you expect me to be a hero if you refuse the lifeline I’ve offered you?”
Jarah. I won’t soon forget his voice. Gripping the cell tighter, I make my way to the windows and spread two blinds enough for me to see the street. Night has fallen, making it both harder and easier to take in my surroundings. The areas illuminated by the streetlamps show a few people moving about, a stray cat, and the normal traffic for this time of night. Nothing looks amiss. It’s the shadows that concern me. I can’t see in the dark.
I let the blinds close. “There’s no need for it.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Ilan will defeat any danger that comes at him.”
“Ilan is going to meet death, and—”
“So you’ve said.” I cut him off. I don’t want to hear any doubts about Ilan’s strength. He promised me he’d defeat whoever comes for him. “But I also know Ilan is death, and he’s never had more of a reason to live than he does now.”
“Are you talking about the baby?” Amusement bleeds into his voice. “Or you?”
“Yes.” I won’t qualify which one of us matters. Jarah doesn’t need any confirmation of my worth to Ilan.
“Love is a lie, Sara.” The words echo Ilan’s and send the same chill through me now as they did when Ilan spoke them to me.
“Love is power, Jarah. It can make a man godlike.” If we’re going to play this game, I’ll use Ilan’s phrasing. Likely, it’ll mean something to this shifter who claims to be my mate’s father.
Jarah’s rich laugh fills the line. “I’m sorry we’ll never have the chance to get to know each other. I would’ve liked to see the qualities a true mate needs to complement one of us. It might’ve helped me locate my other half. Alas, it’s too late. You’re as good as dead.”
“I am?” I let a mocking quality taint my words. “Is death so much a coward that it would go after a human female in order to hurt an angel?”
“No, brave little human. Ilan has been marked. No one else will die, but you’ll wish for death once the longing for Ilan consumes you. Every minute of every day, you’ll ache for him. Unless…”
Fisting the front of my shirt, I fight the anxiety Jarah’s prediction causes. “Unless?”
“Unless…unless Ilan heeded his goddess’s warning and claimed his gift, his ticket to heaven. Has he, Sara? Is my son godlike?”
I press my lips together as caution settles in my bones. This shifter might be important to Ilan, but I can’t take the chance he’s turned on him like the assassin coming for him.
“Well, little human? Has Ilan bitten you yet?”
Aware of the fact I might be making a perfect shadowed outline against the closed blinds, I step to the side of the windows, the wall at my back, and press a shaky hand over the bite mark. My heartbeat thumps in the four-raised points on my shoulder. Its significance is still a mystery, but I know enough to guess at some aspects of its meaning. Mira had a similar-looking scar on her shoulder, and she introduced herself as Josh’s mate, not his wife. Mate is the same word Ilan’s used for me.
“If he has, there might be hope for Ilan.” The optimism in Jarah’s voice is easy enough to pick up on. “And for me. I might still have a chance to become a hero.”
“You mean a hero like Ilan?”
“Yes.” Jarah laughs again. “When I grow up, I want to be just like him.”
“That’s a lofty goal, Jarah. I hope you reach it.”
“So do I, Ilan’s mate. So do I.”
Jarah ends the call, leaving me with an emptiness I can’t shake, as if I’m not quite…whole. As if I’m missing a piece of myself. I can’t help but think I am. I’m missing Ilan. He should be a part of me. He’s not. And if he dies, I’ll live on, alone.