Cadee was furious. Furious with herself for her callousness and with Logan for his suspicions and distrust. How could he believe she was in league with Romano? That she knew about subterrestrials didn’t automatically make her Romano’s spy. Besides, he had come to her, hadn’t him? That night at the Slainté. Damn, damn, damn.
She took a look around the apartment, the table all set up, the candles burning brightly, and tears sprang to her eyes. She slumped on the sofa, and anger became frustration and then misery. It wasn’t possible that all her relationships ended being fiascos. Bah, relationships! Attempts at relationships! She couldn’t call what she had with Logan a relationship yet, but she had liked him. A lot. Too much. Why couldn’t he be just a man?
*Because you’re not just a woman, that’s why. * Cadee sobbed, and felt even more miserable. She had actually liked that Logan was aware of the supernatural world, it was a good thing. It meant he could understand her, and eventually accept her differences. It was evident now that he wasn’t ordinary himself, else Romano wouldn’t bother to put a spell on him. And it was evident he had, now that she thought of it. His lack of details and his sudden changes of topic whenever she asked about his past, not mentioning his strength and ability to fight – it exceeded simple bodyguard skills. She should have known, but well, hindsight is always 20/20.
But it wasn’t her fault if his boss was a corrupt, sleazy bastard! He had no right to accuse her of being part of whatever had happened to him. She had been a insensitive bitch, granted, but she would have answered his questions if he had bothered to ask, and not just assume… or threaten!
Cadee felt the anger returning, and got up. She turned the oven off, blew the candles and walked to her room. She wouldn’t stay home, balancing herself between rage and self-pity. She could use her anger to do something productive. She took off the nice clothes she’d donned for Logan’s sake and changed into hunting gear: worn out jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt, military boots that could crack a head open and her multi-pocketed leather jacket, complete with stakes, blades and even a pair of handcuffs.
She was angry, very angry, and she felt miserable; hunting would let some steam off.
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