“Not with what matters to me,” he answered. There was no hesitation with his honesty, which somehow made it sadder.
Cecilia sucked in a deep breath. No matter how she did it, it never felt like enough air got into her lungs when he was near. Her voice came out whispery when she said, “And… I matter to you.”
“You are all the good in my world.”
He didn’t say she was the only good thing in his life. He didn’t say she mattered. He said she wasallthe good. Everything.
Cecilia had to brace her knee against the edge of the bed to keep herself upright. For someone who spoke through a modulator and clearly had no solid grasp on healthy relationships, Sloane had a wicked way with words.
She turned her head, but he was close enough that it was hard to see him. Not that there would’ve been much to see anyway, what with the mask and all.
Lying to herself that he’d made a good point about Duke’s murder, she said, “If…ifI stayed, it couldn’t be forever. A few weeks, tops, to let things cool down.AndI’d have to be able to call Dahlia. If she wakes up at dusk and doesn’t see a text fromme, she’ll freak out. Trust me, you donotwant Felix hunting me down for her. He’s almost as crazy as she is.”
A kiss of metal on the overheated skin of her spine made her shiver. It was the very tips of his claws, she realized, thighs clenching hard beneath the short skirt of her dress.
Sloane slowly lowered his head. The hard curve of his helmet touched her temple when he warned, “I would strongly advise her against sending anyone to hunt you down.”
Breathless, she asked, “Why?”
“Because they won’t survive it, doe.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
“What kindof placeisthis, anyway?”
Despite the fact that Cecilia’s voice was piped directly into his ears through his helmet’s speakers, it sounded like it came from underwater. Sloane breathed heavily through his mouth as he watched her approach the wall of windows that overlooked the ocean. The lights of San Francisco’s skyline glittered across the navy stretch of the bay, giving the edges of her figure an uncanny, gleaming quality.
Being near her was torture.
Every muscle quivered as he stood stiffly a few feet behind her, his hands tucked behind his back not only because it was the proper position but so he could stop himself from reaching for her.
The shape of her naked back was burned into his mind. The fragile line of her spine, the smooth expanse of her skin…
Sloane bit his lip hard. His fang pierced it smoothly, sending a much-needed prickle of pain through his system.
“It’s a decommissioned battery,” he finally replied. The rough edges of his voice were smoothed by the modulator, but he still wondered if she could hear his desperation.
Cecilia turned away from the window to look at him. She’d put on a soft pink shirt and matching sweatpants after he’d been instructed to turn his back. After decades of brutal training and psychological assessments, he knew tests when he saw them. So he’d turned, even though it went against every instinct he possessed.
Not that she was any less desirable in her sweats than she was half-naked. Sloane couldn’t take his eyes off her as she stood there, one hand propped on her hip and the length of her hair a dark wave down her back.
“Battery?” Her brows drew together with confusion. “Like… electricity?”
“Like defenses,” he corrected. “This is Battery 129, a strategic defense bunker built during the war.”
Cecilia turned on her bare heel to prowl around the open living quarters. He eyed her warily, half-wishing he’d stuck to keeping her locked in the bedroom. Not because he worried she’d escape — she wouldn’t — but because she was altogether too active now that she was free.
“How are your injuries?” He followed her into the kitchen, which she appeared intent on examining.
Ignoring him, she asked, “Is this a Patrol bunker or something now?”
“No.”
He stood to one side of the kitchen island and tracked her movements intently, fascinated by how loud she was even when she wasn’t saying anything. The rustle of her clothing, the taps of her feet on the floor, and the soft little sounds she made in her throat when she opened one empty cabinet after another were alien to him.
Perched on the roof of the building beside hers, he’d only ever gotten to watch as she went about her strange rituals. Itsatisfied a deep, unnamed craving to be so close to her as she did something as mundane as check the fridge.
