My head throbbed. I spent a lot of time in my forest. Tall trees…warm rain…scent of cypress…
Lucas proved relentless during a heatwave. We struggled for hours, me throwing full-force punches while he pulled his. Trying to catch my breath, I braced my hands on my carpet-burned knees. “I have a theory you were sent to torture me slowly into madness.”
He snorted. “I’m the one suffering. It’s been, what, four months? The only change I see is the size of your hair. Does it have self-awareness? Can it see me?”
When I lifted my head to glare, his gaze darted down my loose shirt. I straightened as he jerked his head away. A tinge ofred spread across his fair cheekbones, along with a self-mocking smirk. “This is why you wear a hoodie.”
“Mm-hmm. You try wearing one when it’s one hundred degrees outside.”
He pointedly lifted the hood of his sleeveless hoodie, dropping it over his head. It shadowed his face, but his eyes glimmered.
I shot him a scathing expression. “Okay. Can I have one with no sleeves then?”
“Maybe.” He crossed his arms. “If you’re a good girl.” A black bracer covered his right forearm, hiding the hate brands. He always wore it with short sleeves and annoying pangs of sympathy stirred in me. His hair was damp and curling from the sweat, stubble darkening his jaw.
Even in my thin undershirt, the house was stifling. Sweat dripped down my temples and neck, and salted my lips. My baby hairs curled around my face. Lucas wasn’t wrong about my hair. In humidity, it tended to take on a life of its own; the curls expanding even in my topknot. Self-consciousness attacked me as I dripped and frizzed, and he leaned against the wall, managing to remain poised despite the heat. For the first time since meeting him, I became aware of him not as a Hunter or as my enemy, but as a man.
He looked good.
What?
No, he didn’t.
“They’re trying to find your headquarters,” he said.
My eyes widened. “Really?”
“They aren’t getting very far, from what I understand. Been looking on the other side of town.”
I sent him a flat stare, then rolled my eyes. “That’s spectacularly worthless information.”
He blinked, unmoved. “Crabby Sophia is not my favorite version of you.”
A slap of heat bloomed on both my cheeks. “I’m not crabby!”
His brow lifted. A bead of sweat from his temple made its way over his jaw and dripped down his throat. I followed its progress. What would it feel like if I dragged my finger over the path it took? Would his skin be soft? His stubble scratchy? Would his Adam’s apple bob when I trailed my fingers over it?
“—is that fair?”
“Hmm?” I snapped to attention. “What was that?”
A pulse woke between my legs as my traitorous body decided it wanted things thatIabsolutely did not. It sickened me, this proof that he’d gotten under my skin.
“Hello?” He snapped his fingers in front of my face. Candlelight flashed on the gold ring around his pinky. “What is going on in there?”
The end of the world, apparently.
“I’m tired.”
He angled his head, all skeptical and leery. Shadows appeared under the planes of his cheekbones. The effect was…
The throb pounded.
And I hated myself.
Months—months!—I’d spent rolling around with him on this very carpet, and not once had it struck me that he was handsome. He was a scarred psychopath. A brutal murderer. Maybe—maybe—a rogue vigilante.
He wasn’t handsome.
