He dropped his hand, balling it into a fist by his thigh. Padding barefoot toward me, he murmured, “It’s almost like youwantme to kill you.”
Up close, he was too many things. Dangerous, obviously. Beautiful enough to break a thousand hearts. But his pain wasn’t a trick of the firelight.
It ghosted his eyes, bracketed his mouth. It lived in every motion and word.
His gaze drifted to my lips. Heat flooded my blood, treacherous and inconvenient.
Whisper stalked between us, silent and watching. Its shoulder brushed my thigh, before going to Lucien and headbutting him. Never looking away from me, Lucien ran his fingers down the beast’s spine as it trailed past.
The way he stroked it—such casual familiarity that spoke of so many prior moments like this one.
My tummy clenched.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re looking at me again.”
Flames from the torches transformed our shadows into flickering silhouettes. My headache pressed behind my eyes and despite holding my own this long, I was scarily close to burning out.
Swallowing hard, I backed up a step. “Are you?” I whispered.
“Am I what?”
“Going to kill me?”
He smirked. “Do you want me to?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Who in their right mind would say yes?”
His eyes darkened before he looked away almost as ifhe’dsay yes. He’d say yes to ending whatever it was that he endured.
With a savage chuckle, he drew his shoulders back, hid all signs of such things, and looked down his nose at me. “Killing you is tempting but...not tonight.”
Relief slammed into me, ugly and bright. “You won’t?”
He merely shook his head, elegant and graceful.
“Why?” I breathed.
His eyes held mine with a blatant threat. “Because you’re infuriating.”
A laugh escaped, surprised and slightly deranged. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”
He didn’t reply.
“So you’re saying the moment I’mun-infuriating, you’ll kill me?”
“Perhaps.”
“What can I do tostopyou from killing me?”
“I guess time will tell, won’t it?” He smirked. “Run along, little liar. Before I change my mind.”
Curiosity itched to stay—to learn more about him, despite his murderous tendencies—but instinct took control, and I fled.
I didn’t stop running until I crashed into bed and pulled the blankets over my head as if I could hide from the devil himself.
