The beast that lived in her recognized a threat from the one in him. In that moment, she decided that the coyote at her door was the lesser of two evils.
“I apologize, Mr. Luz, but it seems I have an unexpected visitor. I’m going to have to cut this meeting short.” She smiled, but it was a reserved, tight-lipped thing that gave nothing away. “I will get back to you with my schedule. Please give Epifanio my regards. Have a lovely evening.”
She saw him open his mouth, his silver brows turning down in a flash of raw elvish annoyance, but her finger was already on the controller sitting beside her on the couch. Elio Luz and his avaricious gaze disappeared from the feed screen in an instant.
Camille stood up from the couch in one fluid movement and raked her ungloved claws through her hair. Without intending to, she oriented her body toward the entryway, where she knew — sheknew —Viktor stood.
Her heart beat fast and unevenly in her chest. Her skin felt hot, prickly. Even though she knew it was impossible, she thought she could smell him: salt and soap and the wild, musky scent of animal fur.
Of course, she knew that he had been close enough to leave things at her door, but she didn’t actually consider what she would do if he demanded to speak with her.
There was nothing shecoulddo. It wasn’t like opening the door was an option. Neither was ignoring him. He had to know she was in the apartment or he would have given up already.
Not that coyotes — or shifters in general — were known for their lack of tenacity. They were famously stubborn. When they wanted something, they were dogged in their pursuit of that thing. They were cunning, too.
Shifters were coaxers, ambush predators. They used any means necessary to get what they wanted.
They were quite unlike elves, who simplytook.No games. No obfuscation. When an elf felt the pull to a consort, they didn’t suffer long courtships or dance around their intended. Theyacted.
As Camille had acted all those years ago, when he told her he didn’t want her.
A bolt of anger shook her out of her panic. It streaked through her, hot and bright and biting. The beast in her snarled, claws flexing. It wanted to sink its fangs into him andshake.It wanted to make him hurt as he made her hurt, even now.
Who washeto demand her attention? Who was he to invade her space? Viktor Hamilton did not belong anywhere near her, let alone on her stoop.
Throwing open the door to the hallway, Cammie charged toward the entryway on bare feet.
The knocking stopped as soon as she stepped into the entryway. He must have heard her with those sharp shifter ears.Good,she thought, storming up to the door.That means he’ll have no trouble hearing me through the door.
There was no way in Glory’s radiant name she was going to open up that door and expose herself to the pheromones or the beautiful face that would doom her, but that didn’t mean she had to keep quiet.
Standing a foot from the door, fingers curled into fists, she glared at the reinforced wood with every ounce of venom she possessed. “Goaway!”
There was a scraping noise — the unmistakable sound of claws dragging down the door.
“Cam.”
ChapterEight
Her heart stopped,started again, and then firmly lodged itself in her throat.
Gods, who gave the man the right to say her name like that? What divine entity had she pissed off enough to give him a voice that made her knees weak? It was smooth and low, but nottoolow. It was the kind of voice that sounded best in a close whisper, spoken just for her ears alone, and it called to the snarling thing in her like nothing else had.
Camille’s arms shot out to brace herself against the door jamb. Her claws dug into the elaborate molding, anchoring her to the present, toherside of the door. A pounding beat thrummed through her veins and traveled, with alarming swiftness, to settle between her thighs.
One word.That was all it took for her instincts to spin completely out of her control. One word, and she’d gone soft and wet for him.
“Cam, open the door. Please.”
There was no way she could do that. Even if there was no risk of exposure to his pheromones, she knew that she couldn’t resist him if they met face to face. Their last encounter had cost her greatly, and she wasn’t certain she would have that kind of strength of will again.
Her fingers flexed, sending a flurry of splinters and chipped paint to the floor. Her arms shook with the effort it took to hold still. “No. Why are you here? You have no reason to bother me.”
That was a lie. Camille knew why he was there. She just wanted him to say it. She wanted him to admit that he cared, just so she could throw it back in his pretty face.
She knew that she would never, ever matter to Viktor like he mattered to her. He was her consort, but she would never be his mate. Still, he seemed to have some sort of fixation on her — just as he had when they were teenagers, sneaking around her mother to spend stolen hours together at the beach, in the garden, behind the waterfall in Yerba Buena Plaza.
Whatever drove him to seek her out, it wasn’t enough to make her open the door. It was just enough to torture him a little, though.
