Pierre laughed and gave her a friendly pat on the back.
Mila jolted like she’d been burned. A guttural cry escaped her throat as she staggered half a step forward, clutching her side like she'd been hit.
Pierre froze. “Whoa—what the hell? Did I hurt you?”
Mila’s face went blank too quickly. “No—no, I’m fine,” she said, too fast, too bright. “You pat like a linebacker, apparently.” She threw in a smile, but it was tight, and her gaze wouldn’t quite meet his.
Pierre glanced down at his stick-thin arms and snorted. “Yeah, okay.” Still laughing, he turned and followed Silvia, who had conveniently wandered straight into Travis’s gravitational pull.
I watched as Mila took a moment to recover, her relief evident as she regrouped before catching up with the rest of the group.
“What was her reaction about? What happened?” I whispered to Stephen.
Stephen smiled. “You don’t have to whisper. They can’t see or hear you. Keep your sights on Mila, what happens next is very important.”
As if born from thin air, a very handsome figure appeared behind Mila. He looked a few years older than her—about ourage—with pitch-black hair and pale green eyes, almost too sharp for his smooth, elegant features.
His focus locked onto Mila, steady and unreadable, and when he spoke, his tone was cold, measured, and impossible to ignore. “What the hell was that?”
Mila turned around quickly, her face a mask of surprise and unease.
“You’re hurting.” His deep voice sounded flat, and devoid of concern.
“Of course not,” Mila replied lightly, but the edge in her words gave her away. Her smile wavered. Her eyes didn’t.
He stepped closer—too close.
I could almost hear her heartbeat stutter.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said quietly, “or I’ll rip your shirt off and find out myself.”
What the fuck?
I watched as Mila’s jaw dropped in shock. “I’m sorry, are you threatening toassaultme? To rip off my clothes?” She gaped, and I didn’t blame her—my reaction couldn’t have looked much different.
The guy took another step, and the space between them shrunk. Mila’s breath grew shallow, and I could almost feel her fear radiating from where I stood.
“You flinched in pain when he touched you. Why?” he demanded, his gaze now blazing with an intensity that left no room for evasion.
Mila straightened her spine, then narrowed her eyes into slits. “It’s none of your business, Alek.” She tried to maintain her composure, but her voice betrayed a flicker of fear.
Alek’s laugh was humorless, his features taut with impatience and steel-edged resolve. “Everyone’s safety is my business today, human. Now you either tell me or you show me.”
Mila glared back, defiant but clearly cornered. “It’s nothing,” she said with attempted authority, clearly trying to mask her growing unease.
But the words were too fast, too practiced.
“Bullshit,” Alek said, unmoving. “You’re lying, and I don’t have the patience for it.”
Mila’s clenched her fists. “Why do you even care?”
Alek didn’t blink. “Five seconds, princess,” he said, his tone mocking. The nickname curled out of his mouth like a challenge, and I saw her shoulders stiffen in response.
The seconds ticked by. Mila’s focus darted nervously, every muscle in her face tight with the strain of thinking fast. Then she let out a breath—ragged and reluctant.
“I did a wax, all right?” she snapped. “And it still hurts.”
She tried to sound casual, even sarcastic, but shame had already crept into her voice. Her face was flushed, not with anger now, but with what I assumed was humiliation.
