Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
I point a finger at the frog and exclaim, “Is anyone going to do something about that?”
“About Everett?” Krystian chuckles. “He’s beyond saving.”
“Fuck off,” the shifter grumbles, flipping him the finger.
“No.” I absently brush at a disarranged strand of hair that has fallen into my face. “The frog.”
Zaid frowns. “The frog?”
“The frog on his arm.” I give them a “duh” look.
The guys exchange a look.
“What frog?” Krystian’s brows draw together.
“Sweetheart, there is no frog.” Zaid offers me a soft smile.
A strange feeling arrows through me as I watch the frog jump off Everett’s arm and hop across the table.
“Do you guys really not see it?” I ask, my voice turning high-pitched.
My heart begins to pound even faster, battering my rib cage.
“No,” Rafe says simply.
I swallow then lower my hands to the dagger tattooed on my waist. I’ve been saved from explaining it all morning. For all Krystian knows, I’ve had it my entire life. But now…
I’m running out of time.
My breathing turns thready, and nerves pinball around in my stomach. Sweat coats my hands, and I wipe them repeatedly on my jeans.
“Breathe for me, sweetheart. Breathe.” Zaid’s in front of me, his hands on my thighs.
When did he move? Why can’t I breathe? Why does the air seem to be made of fire that I’m dragging into my lungs?
“We need to hurry,” I whisper, gripping his hands tightly.
The silence turns fraught with tension.
“What’s going on?” Everett barks, standing.
The other two move to crowd around me, but instead of feeling suffocated or claustrophobic, a sense of peace, of security, floods my veins. They’ll protect me. I know they will. They promised.
I stand, nearly sending a crouched Zaid toppling backwards, and begin to pull down my jeans.
“What the fuck?” Krystian’s eyes widen and then heat.
Rafe licks his lips.
But they all freeze when they spot the strange tattoo etched on my skin.
Zaid, who’s closest to the marking, leans forward, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“What’s that?”
“My dagger,” I respond, my voice tight.
