But his soft chuckle at my obvious lie forces me to look at him.
Everything in me softens. My eyes dart over his face, tracing the soft hollow of his cheeks, the cat-like shape of his eyes, how his irises are dotted with specks of grey like stardust.
He’s so beautiful.
And then… I feel him. “I makeyounervous,” I blurt. It’s a soft statement, quiet, because I’m not saying it to tease or be cruel.
I expect him to recoil, reinforce the mask Kane keeps just beneath the surface, ready to shutter in place when things get too real—
Cool fingers slide over my ribs, my vision blurs and the room loses its vibrancy as his eyes lock with mine. “You make me feel many things,empath.”
Abort. Danger.
This is… He’s…
He’s ours.
This isnotthe time, scary voice.
Then he smiles, a sliver of his teeth peeking out, and I swear I’m seconds from grabbing his chest plate—
Soft murmurs circle me as the space around us comes into focus. Somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere new.
He flitted.
The bastard.
Inky tendrils of my power wrap around me, protective and instinctive. But he’s here, and he’s still holding me. One hand resting on my side above my hip, the other still gripping mine.
I step back, and he lets go.
My gaze sweeps the unfamiliar space, my darkened sight dulling the edge of my rising panic.
Wherever we are, there are more people than just us. I can hear them, feel them, my power already sweeping out and feeding.
Then the smell hits me. Sweet and buttery. For some reason, it eases me.
“Enforcer, please let me show you to your table.” An older woman with a pale pink apron and soft grey hair curled into a sweeping bun stands before us.
Eyes lowered. Not a threat.
“Martha, it’s fine,” Kane replies, which is a strange response to what she’s said.
Martha’s thinning brows furrow, just before she looks up.
“Oh, my dear.” Her face splits into a large grin, and her warmth, her affection, slams into me. I don’t have a chance to gain my bearings before she’s directly before me. “I’m so glad you came! They weren’t sure, you see, so I made extra just in case. They told me which ones you like.”
She’s still beaming at me, but I’ve no idea what she’s saying. I cast a wary glance at Kane.
“Martha is apatisserie,” Kane elaborates, with a ridiculously attractive French accent to boot. “She makes the pastries you’ve had before.”
My gaze snaps back to Martha. “They’re the best things I’ve ever tasted.”
She claps her hands and a soft mist of flour fills the air. “Just wait until you’ve had them fresh!” Then she turns, heading into the back and what I assume is a kitchen.
Kane doesn’t waste time, his darkness curls around my back, gently encouraging me to follow.
I stare at his retreating form, feeling the cool embrace of his shadows. There was a time he wouldn’t have given me the choice. He would’ve dragged me with him, without pause or question.
