Chapter 157

Ethan

“You’re going too slow,” Zev growls, his claws digging into my mind. “Should have run.”

“And let everyone between the airport and her house see us? I don’t think so,” I tell him, shaking my head. He’s been chattering and urging me to go faster since we touched down and got off the plane. His need to find our mate is more important than anything else right now.

“You two-legs are so slow.”

The grumpy tone makes me roll my eyes as I turn onto Fiona’s friend’s street. Her house is at the end, and as I pull up, I find my pathway blocked by news vans. Then I see it.

A crowd of people are circled up on Fiona’s friend’s front lawn. Flashes from cameras are bright against the setting sun, and only when I climb out of my car do I realize what’s happening. I watch it as if it’s slow motion.

The crowd completely surrounds her, caging her in as they yell at her and insult her. Then, Fiona cries out and doubles over as someone’s elbow slams into her side.

“Did the money make you feel less dirty when you sucked his—”

“That’s enough!” I roar, storming forward and fixing my glare on the group. They freeze then turn, wide-eyed as I make my way toward them. I may not have been here before, but I will not let them harass my woman this way.

Fiona’s eyes connect with mine, and I try to silently tell her everything will be alright now that I’m here. She watches me with watery eyes, and in the crowd’s rush to move back, someone bumps into Fiona.

She gasps as she tilts to the side, and I launch myself forward, catching her before she can fall. Fingers dig into my arms as I curl my arms around her and pull her to my chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I growl, turning my words onto the reporters. The entire group takes a step back at my angry words. I can feel the fast beat of Fiona’s heart hammering against my side.

The sour scent of her distress and nervousness fills the air, and I curse myself that I didn’t get here sooner.

“Comfort our mate,” Zev growls, pushing the boundary between man and animal. I force him back. This is not the time to have his hot-headed anger turned on the reporters.

“If you wanted to talk to my girlfriend, you should not have invaded her privacy like this,” I demand, and Fiona immediately tenses up, going stiff as a board. I try to ignore the hint of annoyance that wafts off her at my words, so I keep all my focus on the reporters. “You are trespassing on private property, and on top of that, you have been harassing my woman. Do I need to call the authorities?”

Whispers break out, each of the reporters turning and glancing at each other but soon focus back on me as I continue.

“I could have every single one of you arrested for assault, harassment, and trespassing. I suggest you back up if you want any sort of forgiveness or leniency from me or my lawyers,” I growl. They immediately move, backing up to the edge of the lawn and watching me.

Ignoring their curious gazes and cameras, I turn to Fiona. I let my hands slide down her arms then her sides as I look her over.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head silently, and after a minute, I realize she isn’t going to say anything. I can’t blame anyone other than myself, though. I fucked up, and now I’m paying for it.

Zev huffs in agreement, but I ignore him and look down at my mate. She keeps her head down, her eyes on the ground, not looking at me. I let my thumb brush softly across the back of her elbow, and then, with a sigh, I gently place a hand on the small of her back and guide her back toward the house.

“Go inside. I’ll take care of everything.”

That has her looking up, and my heart lurches. Tears fill her eyes, letting the anger, confusion, and hurt shine brightly up at me.

“I’ll handle things from here,” I promise, nudging her toward the door again. This time, she doesn’t hesitate to go inside and close the door between us.

Fiona

I exhale on a shaky breath, sliding to the floor against the door. Seeing him again, having him touch me was too much. Then he spoke in that soft, deep voice that sends my body melting into a warm puddle.

“I’ll handle things from here,” he’d said. Handle what? I want to ask, want to throw the door open and demand to know what’s going through his head, but I can’t move. My body is frozen from shock and exhaustion.

Was he talking about the reporters or something else? Was there more to his words like his eyes suggested?

Leaning against the door, I press my ear to the wood and listen for any sounds from the other side.

“Fiona Bowen is off limits,” Ethan announces loudly. The commanding tone sends a shiver down my spine, but I don’t pull away from the door. I have to know what he says so badly that I hold my breath in anticipation.

“Any questions you have, you can direct at me. You are not to bother her, and if you do, you will be inviting a whole mess of legal action against yourselves and your companies,” Ethan says. I grip the hem of my shirt, my heartbeat speeding up and slamming against my ribs as he continues. “I will answer three questions and no more than that. If you still have questions after this, you can be in contact with me through professional channels.”

I figured he would send them away, but maybe this is better. If he gives them some sort of answers, it’ll lessen the chance that they call him on his bluff and approach me again, which I definitely do not want.

“Jacky from Channel Seven News,” a woman’s voice says, pulling me back to the door. “Who was the initiator in the contract sexual relationship?”

“I was,” Ethan says, and all the air leaves my lungs in a rush. “I approached Ms. Bowen and proposed a contractual relationship that was, at first, just to help her get back on her feet. There was nothing illegal going on and surely nothing morally improper.”

“But she was married—”

“Is this a question?” Ethan asks, cutting the person off.

Silence sits heavy for a moment before someone else speaks, “Adam, from the Daily. Was Ms. Bowen cheating on her husband when she entered this relationship with you?”

“No. Their relationship had already ended with her ex-husband’s infidelity, so she was not in the wrong here,” Ethan says, then there’s a slight pause before he adds, “And I expect that to be reported clearly.”

“Mr. Montgomery,” a man calls. “Xavier from the Western Front. How did you choose Ms. Bowen for such an interesting relationship?”

Silence falls again, everyone, including me, waiting for Ethan’s answer. It stretches so long that I think he won’t answer, but then he clears his throat.

“There is no one else. Fiona is the only woman I want to be with. She is beautiful, inside and out, and there’s no one in this world who holds a candle to her genuine kindness.”