I don’t find myself in situations like what just almost happened with Andrés.
I don’t see men fighting like animals.
I don’t run through the woods at night like the heroine in a horror movie.
And Icertainlydon’t find myself pinned to trees with bloodied hands around my throat, icy, dangerous, devil eyes ripping into my soul, while something that feels worryingly likeexcitementthrums in my veins.
This is the second time I’ve found myself face to face with Vaughn, with his hands around my throat and his darknessseeping into me like ink staining my skin. The most alarming thing isn’t that it’s happening again.
…It’s that the feeling slithering and coiling inside me isn’t purely fear or horror.
We stand like that for another few long seconds, only the nighttime sounds of the forest and my heavy breathing disrupting the silence. Vaughn’s slippery, bloodied fingers—his own blood, I think, based on the slash wound on his upper arm soaking his dress shirt—tighten on my neck, squeezing just enough to send a bolt of vicious and all-consuming heat flashing through my core.
“Do you know, Evelina,” he growls, “why captive birds can’t be set free?”
I blink, swallowing against his hand and still trying to wrap my head around the idea that any of this is real.
“I—what?” I whisper.
“Because when pretty little birds are raised in pretty little cages, they never learn the basic survival skills that would keep them alive in the wild.”
Oh.
He’s talking about me.
“I…” My brows knit. “I’m not a caged bird?—”
“No, and that’s the problem,” he growls. “Someone’s had the bad sense to let yououtof your cage, which is how you keep finding yourself in places and situations where you do not belong,” he murmurs darkly.
A heated shiver ripples down my spine, shaking me to my core.
“You… You’re hurt,” I whisper.
Vaughn’s eyes don’t move a fraction of an inch, just keep stabbing into mine.
“Whatthe fuckwere you doing out here with Andrés Torvallés?” he growls.
I don’t say anything.
“I asked you a question, Evelina.” I shiver as his thumb strokes my jugular, the slick motion sending a bolt of strange electricity through my system. “It would be in your best interests toanswer it.”
“Just…” My throat bobs. “Just a date.”
The tension in his jaw ratchets up a dozen levels, and his eyes flash with blue fire.
“A date,” he says coldly, his voice like razors.
“A date that went wrong,” I add. “Seriously, thank you for?—”
“I wasn’t saving you, I waskilling him,” he rasps darkly.
A sharp tremor tears through me as my eyes widen. “He… He’sdead?”
“My condolences,” Vaughn says dryly.
Holy hell.
“Now, again,” Vaughn murmurs in that emotionless, even tone, “I would like you to tell me what you werereallydoing out here with that motherfucker. And if you lie to me again, I’ll fuck you until you cry.”
