Every bit the devil.
I pushed away from him.
And I saw it in his face—the acceptance of my reaction.This was how it must always be for him.The response he was used to.Who wouldn’t look at him and not think he looked like a beast, his perfect portrait slashed down one side?
I could imagine people were afraid of him.But it wasn’t fear I felt.It wasn’t the reason I pushed back from him, with what he must have taken for horror written across my face.
No.I saw something else.
A man who’d endured pain.A man who’d seen the worst.A man who was as scarred as I am—except his scars were visible.A man who has been to hell and lived to tell the tale.
And he’d come to me, on the brink of death, as if fate had hand-delivered him.
Even now I wonder why he was sent to me.Why is he here?What job has he been tasked with doing?
I’m a logical thinker, someone who needs evidence and hard facts before forming opinions.I’ve never been one for fate and destiny and spirits, yet when he pulled me from that pool, I felt something, saw something I’m still having a hard time assessing.
My analytical brain is arguing that he was there by my father’s design—that somehow, my father knew my intentions.That he’d tapped into my brain, seen what I was about to do, and that’s why the Beast was there.And why he now stalks my every move.
Yet, it doesn’t sit right.It isn’t possible that my father knew what I intended to do.That’s beyond the realm of science.Beyond the capabilities of man, even one such as my father.
A shopper brushes past me, and the Hellhound swings his arm out, bringing me out of my stupor.He’s so close I can smell his spicy cologne, feel the energy radiating from him.
He makes me nervous—though not because of the brutal scars.I’ve grown used to those.I see them every night when I lie awake, remembering being held by him after he’d pulled me from the water.The beautifully beastly man who changed my life.Who intervened when I thought no one would.Who decided my time wasn’t up—that I had more to give to this unfair world.
Strangely, I’m not repulsed by his scars.What I see now is how others respond to him—the faces of the shoppers as they pass.They catch a glimpse, grimace, move aside, or look down.They want to unsee him.
But I see him.Or at least, IthinkI do.
And every so often, there’ll be that one person who doesn’t look away from him, doesn’t scowl at his face, the people like me who don’t view him like he’s just stepped out of a horror film.And I wonder what they see.Like me, do they want to know how he became the beast he is?
Selecting another dress from the rail, I fling it over my arm and then head to the dressing rooms.The Beast clears my path, his eyes sweeping the shop for danger.He’s dressed in all black: combats and a tight tee that only accentuates his buff physique.
I reach the cubicles and note the heavy curtains, which hang across each section.I make my way to the furthest one at the end.Normally, it’s Willa who shops with me, and she’s quite happy to wait at the front of the row, but he follows me, checking the empty cubicles as we walk past them.
Reaching the last one, I step inside and then turn to face the Hellhound, contemplating just how much I can push him.
It’s nothing personal—although I’m still harbouring some anger with him.I don’t know whether he saved me or condemned me.I guess only time will tell.But whoever he is, I’m a bitch to everyone on my security detail; Willa and Bastian are just used to it.They know I don’t mean half of the things I say.That it’s purely the backlash of the lonely existence I endure.Willa laughs my sniping off, and Bastian ignores me.But the Beast?I haven’t tested him yet.Now seems like the perfect opportunity.
“Are you joining me?”I ask, gesturing with my head for him to step inside.“You gonna watch whilst I undress, just to make sure no one attacks me in the dressing room or leaps out from under the curtain?”
I flick my tongue over my teeth, smirking as he stands, arms folded, his eyes as dark as thunder clouds.This could go one of two ways: He could ignore me, like Bastian, or he could laugh in my face and make it into a big joke.But he doesn’t strike me as a comedian.
When he lowers his gaze, the air shifts.
“Do you want me to?”He doesn’t smile, doesn’t hint that this is a joke.He sounds deadly serious, and I can’t ignore the heat that flares over my skin.From any other guy, this would sound leery, but there’s nothing creepy about the way he’s looking at me.
Just as I’m about to come up with a witty comeback, he says, “You think this is all one big joke, don’t you?”There’s no mistaking the deliberate tone of his words.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“You think I’m just here for show, the freak to scare off the real bad guys.But when I do a job, I do it properly, and right now, my job is to protect you.That means I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, no matter how spoiled or entitled you are.Now, I can wait out here, or I can come in there.It makes no fucking difference to me.”
Spoiled and entitled?I should be reeling, but I’m too shocked that he bit back.Of all the bodyguards I’ve had, not one of them has ever stood up to me.They’ve always been too scared of my father.Not of me.No one is afraid of me.
With a hefty tug, I pull the curtain closed, banishing him from my sight.
He’s annoyed me, but I’m also intrigued.
