Lincoln' POV
The van hums along the winding road toward Dean's territory, and I steal glances at my mate beside me. Heather stares through the passenger window, her fingers drumming against her thigh in that restless pattern I've come to recognize. Through our bond, waves of anxiety crash against my consciousness like storm surges.
"Talk to me, beautiful. What's eating at you?"
Her head turns toward me, and that shy smile tugs at her lips. She's still adjusting to having someone who actually notices her moods, someone who cares enough to ask. The constant awareness we share through our mate bond still catches her off guard sometimes. In our bed, she craves that intimate connection, but moments like these make her feel exposed in ways she hasn't quite embraced yet.
"Have you ever been responsible for something like this before?" she asks, her voice carrying an edge I don't often hear.
