“My ass! They took off because you can’t walk ten feet down here anymore without tripping over a cop. Too bad they didn’t bring you with, huh, Jimbo?”

Jimmy’s eyes flashed murky murder, and Drake moved quickly, spinning him away from Crescent. “Just once I’d like to take a walk with you without being assaulted,” he muttered, carefully examining her arm.

“What can I say? I’ve got a dark past. He’s harmless. Let’s go eat.”

He ignored her. Then he whirled and grabbed Jimmy by the throat, lifting him in the air as easily as a mother picked up her toddler.

“Did you really,” he began. He was so angry, it was hard to talk. He wanted to growl and bite. “Did you really think you could put your hands on my mate and live to see the sun come up?”

“Whoa!” Crescent said, tugging on his arm. Before them, the punk squeaked and kicked, his face turning an interesting shade of purple. “Let go, Drake. He’s just an asshole.”

He was shaking the man—really just an overgrown boy, but surely old enough to know better—like a dog shakes a rag doll. “Did you really?” he said again. “Did you?”

“Drake! You are freaking me out, dude!”

You’re a doctor.

She’ll have bruises. He actually marked her—marked her with his filthy hands!

But you’re a doctor.

“Drake, will you put him down already? He’s already passed out, for Christ’s sake. And I really don’t want to finish the day at the Cop Shop.”

He growled and then flung the man away. They both watched the unconscious tough sail through the air and hit the street like a sack of sand. Jimmy groaned but didn’t regain consciousness.

“Jeez, overprotective much?” But she was smiling. “Remind me to never tell you about my years on the streets.”

“You will tell me.”

“Later. After that vein in your forehead isn’t throbbing. Yuck, by the way.”

“He touched you. He should never have done that.”

“Yes, and I think he gets that now! Your mate?” she added, teasing. “Is that what I am?”

He put his arms around her. “Yes. That’s what you are.”

“Well, all right. Let’s go eat.”

“If I have to look at another pancake, I may well vomit.”

“Dude, it’s fine. I’ll get waffles,” she added with a wicked grin, and stretched up and kissed him.

“I have to tell you something. No waffles. I’ve put this off long enough—”

“What, no waffles, like, ever?”

“Crescent…this may be hard to believe—”

She kissed him again. “Your intolerance of starchy foods?”

“Be serious. I’m talking about—”

“The fact that you can see me?”

He blinked. “Well…yes. You’re not surprised?”