“Faythe?” Marc called as the door closed, and plastic crinkled when he set down whatever he’d brought from the store.

Jace stood firm in the middle of the floor, facing the main room, but his pulse raced almost as fast as mine. I twisted in the tub, and water sloshed around me. Pain shot through my evidently still-broken wrist as I grabbed a towel from the rack overhead and pulled it into the tub to cover myself. Though, I could not have rationally explained why.

Marc had seen me naked. Jace had seen me naked. Half the south-central Pride had seen me naked. And we weren’t doing anything wrong. But I didn’t want Marc to see me naked with Jace, because we had done something wrong once, and the guilt from that carried over to transform this one awkward moment into a drama the likes of which daytime television had never seen.

Because we didn’t look like we’d done nothing wrong.

Marc’s footsteps thumped slowly toward the bathroom, and I could practically smell his suspicion. Neither of us had answered him—I, for one, had no idea what to say—and he’d heard both my curse and the slosh of water. And probably our twin racing pulses.

He stepped into the doorway with my torn, discarded shirt in one fist, Jace’s in the other, and rage took over his expression faster than I could form words to explain. He didn’t notice that Jace still wore his pants. He didn’t see the ruined cast on the floor, or the scissors on the counter.

Marc took one look at us—me naked and soaked in the tub, leaning around Jace to be seen, both of us probably looking guilty as hell—and the specks of gold in his brown eyes glittered with fury and bitter betrayal.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Twenty-Three

“Marc…” I said, and his gaze flicked my way. He took in the soaked towel I clutched to my chest in spite of the pain in my left arm, and the darkness in his expression swelled until I could almost see the edges of it emanating from him like an inverse glow.

“Start talking, Faythe,” he growled from the doorway.

Jace bristled. “Leave her alone. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Marc dropped my shirt and his fist slammed into Jace’s jaw before the material hit the floor. Jace stumbled backward into the counter, and his phone slid into the sink.

“Stop!” Water sloshed around me as I tried to push myself up with my left hand. But the pain was too much, and I dropped into the bath. More water splashed onto the floor.

Marc marched past Jace, anger roaring like flames in his eyes, and reached down for me.

“Don’t touch her!” Jace rubbed his jaw, his brows drawn low, and took a deliberate step toward us. His snarl was a perfect bookend to Marc’s. “You will not lay a hand on her until you calm down.”

Marc froze. Then he straightened slowly and met Jace’s gaze, looking both surprised and furious. “I would never hurt her. You know that.” He reached down again to help me up, and Jace growled.