Say it

Tristan's POV

"Tristan, let me go!" Nate yells, his voice raw with frustration as I drag him away from that fucking wolf.

His wrist is trapped in my grip, his skin hot against my palm, but I can barely think past the fire burning through my veins. The sight of him—flushed cheeks, parted lips, golden hair slightly disheveled—still laughing at some stupid joke from that other wolf flashes in my mind like a fresh wound.

"Tristan, let me go!" he snarls, his strength flaring as he yanks his arm back with a force that surprises even me.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, his blue eyes sharp and cutting as he glares at me, demanding an explanation. His lips are slightly swollen from whatever bullshit flirting he was engaged in, and something primal inside me snaps.

I take a step forward, towering over him, my hands curling into fists at my sides. 

"Why were you with him?" I growl. The words barely make sense, but it's the only thing I can focus on.