Bun burrows deeper into my lap, trembling against my chest. The cave has gone deadly silent except for her sniffles.
"I can explain," Owen says again, taking another careful step back when Caine's eyes lock onto him like heat-seeking missiles.
My heart pounds, trapped somewhere between panic and a bizarre protective instinct for the toddler currently using me as a human tissue. I've known this child for less than a handful of hours, but the bone-crushing tension radiating from Caine makes me want to shield her with my body.
"She's not—we're not—" My voice is thin. "This isn't what it looks like."
The words are lame, but it isn't as if I was expecting to defend myself against a toddler calling me her mother.
Caine's jaw twitches. The tattoos on his skin seem to pulse darker, shadows writhing beneath his flesh. I can practically hear the calculations happening behind his stormy eyes—dates, timelines, possibilities…
Not that there's much to calculate.
