Havana, however, didn’t want anything from him. She didn’t even seem particularly impressed by his role. She didn’t take his crap, give him his own way all the time, or relentlessly try to impress him. Hell, she didn’t even address him like he was an Alpha. When they were together, he was just Tate to her. She didn’t see his status, she saw him.
There were few people Tate felt able to lower his guard around. Havana was one of them. She made him feel at ease. Calm. Unjudged. It enabled him to switch off and relax.
She also didn’t try pushing his boundaries. She just let the situation be. Let him be. She made an effort to get to know him, but she never asked anything too personal. She didn’t sulk if he dodged a particular question—she just gave him a haughty eye roll that was all alpha and never failed to make his dick twitch.
She wasn’t afraid to challenge him, especially not in the bedroom. She put up a resistance and made him work for the right to take control. So there was a lot of biting and scratching, though they were both careful not to draw blood or leave permanent marks. He’d never admit out loud that he’d almost branded her once. Well, twice. Maybe even several times.
To put it simply, Havana Ramos was his equal. She accepted and understood him in a way that only another natural-born alpha could. And he liked her a fuck of a lot. So he really wasn’t down with her plan for them to each go their own goddamn way.
She exhaled heavily. “I’m going to head home.”
“Not until you tell me why you want to walk away from me.”
“For God’s sake, Tate, can you not just drop it?” She thrust a hand into her hair, and her inner animal momentarily glared out at him through her eyes. Given the devil’s temper, he wouldn’t be surprised if she shifted and tried to bite his face off.
The smaller a breed of shifter, the more likely he was to avoid it—and there was a very good reason for that. Smaller breeds not only tended to be ten times more ferocious, it was as if mother nature gave them some utterly cool defenses to compensate for their size.
Take devil shifters: their bones were tough as steel. They had the bite force of a giant piranha. They possessed an immense strength that was out of proportion to their size. And the odor they released from their anal glands could make even a skunk think, “Fuck, no.”
Devils were disliked by some but respected by all. Because you had to respect that a creature the size of a small dog with an oversized head could burst your skull like a goddamn piñata.
One thing Tate liked about devils was that they weren’t unpredictable. They were very consistent creatures, so you knew exactly where you stood with them. More to the point, you knew that if you pissed them off, they’d shift into small, furry canisters of pure rage that would happily rip the skin from your bones. So, yeah, there was really no such thing as giving an angry devil shifter too much personal space. Still, he wasn’t going to do as she requested and “drop this.” It was too important.
“Is this an ego thing?” she asked. “You like to be the one who decides when it’s over?”
“This has nothing to do with ego. This is a simple case of me wanting you to stop dancing around my questions. One thing I like about you, Havana, is that you’re a straight-shooter. You say it how it is. Right now, though, all your shutters are down. I can’t imagine what could possibly be going on up here”—he gently tapped her temple— “that you’d feel you couldn’t tell me.”
“Since when have you ever cared about what goes on inside my head? You never ask about anything—not my past, not my opinions, not my likes or dislikes, nothing. In that sense, you barely know me.”
“Bullshit. I might not know your origins, your favorite color, or how you came to be a loner, but I know you.” He hadn’t asked her questions about herself, but he’d paid attention. Watched her. Studied her. Filed little things away in his head. He knew plenty about her.
You couldn’t fit Havana in a box. She was short-tempered yet the calm in the storm. Caring yet not tactile. Friendly yet not social. Frank yet guarded. Impulsive yet not a slave to her impulses. She was a practical person but whimsical enough to believe in “signs.” She wasn’t a girly girl but also wasn’t a tomboy. She was just … her. A quirky and intriguing mix of tough and vulnerable.
“And you know me,” he added.
“Not well. You kept a metaphorical ocean between us.”
A muscle in his cheek ticked. “There’s a reason I keep a distance from—”
“You don’t need to explain yourself,” she instantly assured him. “Really. You have every right to insist on boundaries. That’s not wrong. I’m just making the point that I never got to properly know you, that’s all. Look, I’m making the right decision for us both here. We fooled around for over four months. It’s not wise to continue something that isn’t going anywhere. That’s how people’s expectations get muddled. That’s how they get hurt.”
She wasn’t wrong. She also wasn’t telling him the complete truth. “Maybe that’s part of the reason you’re declaring you’re done, but there’s more to this.”
She flicked her gaze upward. “You know, I’m beginning to think that nothing I say will be enough to justify my decision to you. Also, it’s kind of narcissistic of you to feel like there needs to be a major reason why a girl would choose to walk away from you. Sometimes, people just want to leave dead-end relationships. They just want to move on.”
Pain knifed through his gut. A pain that was unexpected. Dangerous. “And you just want to move on?”
“Yes, I do. Because it really is best for both of us.” She let out a long breath. “I don’t want us to part on a bad note. You’re a good guy. And I had fun.”
“Yet, you’re done.”
She gave him a wan smile. “This was always going to end. I’m just making it happen sooner rather than later.”
Tate shook his head. He wasn’t ready for this to be over. What they had might not be deep or serious, but it was good. He didn’t want to give her up yet. “Baby—”
“Don’t, Tate. Don’t do that. Just let this be. It truly is better to do this now,” she added, her voice going thick with emotion. But then she took a step back, and a mask of indifference slipped over her face.
The sudden distance in her eyes raised his hackles and made his cat snarl. She was a mere foot away, but there might as well have been a goddamn abyss between them. She suddenly seemed so utterly out of reach on every level. So completely inaccessible. He could feel her slipping through his fingers like water.
The cord of panic around his lungs tightened until it hurt to breathe. The urge to bite her, brand her, bubbled up out of nowhere and surged through him with such strength that he reached for her, intending to clamp his teeth around her pulse.
The fuck?
Shaken, Tate lowered his arm and backed up.
“See you around.” Then she was gone, and the door closed behind her.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, cursing beneath his breath. He wanted to do as his raging cat demanded—track her down, haul her back, and make her think twice about walking away from him again. But Tate stayed where he was. He let her go. He had no business going after her because, really, what the fuck did he have to give her?