I gasp, finally drawing air.
“What are you doing here?”
The words are shrill and tinny, but at least they come out.
Caine’s eyes narrow, scanning my face, my hair, my body. His nostrils flare slightly.
“Your hair is blonde.”
(5)
It’s like deja vu, the way he comments on my appearance. My hand flies self-consciously to my now-blonde strands.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Behind him, Lyre leans against the wall, her slitted eyes observing with unnerving calculation. She doesn’t seem afraid of Caine, which strikes me as either incredibly brave or suicidally stupid.
A strangely familiar black dog pokes his head around Caine’s side with a hopeful whimper, only to have his muzzle shoved back.
I blink.
“You left,”
Caine says, and if I didn’t know he’s a psychotic serial killer, I’d think he’s a wounded husband hunting down his wife after coming home to signed divorce papers or something. He sounds so… betrayed.
Maybe it’s my imagination.
It’s doing a lot of things right now. My mind’s even insisting his stare lacks the razor-sharp edge I remember from our previous encounters. The tightness around his mouth has softened, and the crease in his brow isn’t as deep. Even his lips are soft, his jaw relaxed instead of clenched.
Like I’m watching him through some kind of photo filter.
I shake my head, trying to kick out all these strange thoughts. It’s hard to think clearly, and my heart keeps hammering against my ribcage in a distracting rhythm. Blaming it on fear would be nice, but my body’s all ooh and ahh over his damn cologne-ad smell, which is probably what’s doing it.
Whatever it is, it’s toxic to my intelligence. I swear I’ve been thinking just fine the past two days without him around, and now my hips are wiggling just a little where I sit, trying to ease the pressure down under. Z
My brain and body are not on the same wavelength, and this is a huge problem. Have I turned into some sort of pack bunny, after all? Is it possible to lust over a man’s body like I have no purpose in life beyond being his vapid sex doll? I mean, even Rafe didn’t have this effect on me. 3
His hand lifts slowly, giving me plenty of time to flinch away, but I’m frozen. His fingers brush against my cheek with unexpected gentleness, and I stop breathing altogether.
“Grace,”
he says, my name sounding so soft and delicate when it comes out of his mouth. O
The calloused pad of his thumb skims my skin with such delicacy it might as well be a whisper. My eyelids flutter against my will as his touch travels to a strand of my newly blonde hair.
He tucks it behind my ear, his fingertips lingering at the sensitive skin just below my earlobe.
Lyre clears her throat, and I jump, the strange, overly sexual connection between us fizzling. Shoving Caine’s hand away, I blink a few times to clear my vision.
But he still looks all soft and gentle and not murderous, which is just… not right.
“What are you doing here?”
I ask, doing my best to sound like his presence is unwanted. Which it is. Definitely. Even if my body doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo, despite being marked urgent.
“You left,”
he repeats, as if that explains everything.
It doesn’t.
The black dog-no, wolf-peeks around Caine again with a soft whine, his gray eyes familiar.
Fenris.
The recognition is instantaneous without attraction hazing my thought process, and I have to suppress a hysterical laugh. The massive, otherworldly wolf has somehow been reduced to what looks like an all-black German Shepherd.
Lyre clears her throat again from where she’s leaning against the wall.
“So, this is who you’re running from.”
Caine doesn’t even glance in her direction, his attention fixed entirely on me.
“Are you hurt?”
His eyes dart to my wrist, which hasn’t been wrapped since my first night with Lyre.
“What? No. I’m fine.”
My brain scrambles to make sense of his presence, of his demeanor, of the fact that he’s kneeling before me in this tiny camper with an expression I can’t decipher. Intrusive thoughts about us being naked-together-try to horn in, but I shove them away without remorse.
Is there medicine to fix my imagination? I’m in desperate need of a lifetime supply of it. 2
“Why are you here? How did you find me?”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“You left without telling me where you were going.”
I nod.
“Yes, I know.””
His eyes tighten. His entire face tenses, the now-familiar Lycan King mask returning to place, hard and cold.
“I’m here to bring you back.”
“No, thank you.”
Heat rises to my face as I struggle to remain composed. Thankfully, all the inappropriate thoughts have flown off with my rising irritation.
“I’m not your prisoner.”
“We discussed this.”
(2)
“You discussed it. I disagree with the facts.”
His jaw tightens, the muscle there flexing beneath his skin. He looks different somehow. More dangerous, yet also more human. His dark hair is mussed, as if he’s been running his hands. through it, and there are dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t been sleeping well.
“Who is she?”
He jerks his chin toward Lyre without looking at her.
“Lyre.”
She answers before I can, her voice light but edged.
“And you’re in my home without an invitation.”
Caine still doesn’t turn.
“You took what belongs to me.”
I frown.
“I don’t belong to anyone.”
His nostrils flare.
“Why do you smell like coconuts?”
(8)
What the hell does smelling like coconuts have to do with anything? I blink at Caine, genuinely confused by the bizarre shift in conversation.
Caine’s jaw tightens as his nostrils flare again. He breathes in deeply, looking almost offended by my smell. O
“It’s lotion, okay?”
Something about the intensity of his stare makes me want to fill the silence, but I have nothing particularly nice to say. Instead, I mumble,
“Not that it’s any of your business what I put on my body.”
His eyes darken at my words, and I immediately regret my phrasing. It’s stupid to antagonize someone when you don’t want them to kill you, but it’s hard not to get a little uppity when they act so damn strange.
I shift in my seat, tapping my fingers against the table as I gather my courage.
“Look, I don’t think you have any legal right to hold me as a prisoner.”
It’s something I’ve been thinking about for some time, going around in circles in my head. Trying to sound confident, even as my heart threatens to burst through my ribcage, I add,
“I was a minor when I was taken to the Blue Mountain Pack, and I haven’t done anything illegal.”
“I need to investigate,”
Caine says simply. No other explanation. No details. Just those four words, like it’s all he needs to say and I should just go along with it.
“Investigate what?”
My voice rises despite my effort to stay calm.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.