"My mate," he said.
The new gland at Sylvia's nape throbbed.
Thomas felt it. His eyes darkened, and his entire body went still with the brutal discipline of a man holding himself by the throat.
Sylvia resented that a little.
She stepped closer.
Thomas did not move away, but he did not reach for her either. His hands remained at his sides, fingers curled, every line of him saying he wanted and refused in the same breath.
"Tom."
"I am here."
"I know." She lifted both hands slowly and placed them against his chest, over the fresh black shirt Florian had brought him. "That is the problem. You are here like a wall again."
His mouth tightened. "You need walls."
"I need a chair. Maybe soup. Possibly a nap. I do not need you glaring at harmless beta cooks because they offered me food."
"He was too cheerful."
"John?"
"Yes."
"Thomas, he looked like a man mourning citrus."
"That does not mean harmless."
Sylvia stared at him.
His expression did not change.
