The next morning, Eric woke up angry and grumpy. He refused to sleep in Sera's bedroom last night.
Eric sat on the edge of the bed he hadn't touched, elbows on his knees, head down. Fury simmered beneath his ribs at himself. At the way she had gotten under his skin.
He didn't like the way he felt seeing her with Cyril. It was dangerously close to jealousy—an emotion he had no business entertaining. Jealousy was for insecure men. Yet the feeling had crept into his chest, spreading slowly, digging hooks into every breath he took. Why should he be jealous? Sera wasn't his mate. She wasn't his girlfriend. She wasn't even supposed to be important to him.
All she did was help him sleep.
Just a simple human girl offering comfort in the dark.
And those other things—the kiss, the pleasure he took while grinding against her in desperate hunger—those were just a biological response to proximity. Nothing more. Nothing emotional. Nothing meaningful.
He repeated that to himself.
