“Thanks for the help but you really don’t need to,” she protested, palms up.
It would’ve been the easiest thing in the world to sling her over his shoulder and deliver her to a safer location. That was what a real protector would do. If he were on assignment, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
But he wasn’t, and something about the wary look on her face made him second-guess his impulse to use force to get what he wanted.
Sloane did a rapid calculation in his mind, weighing the risks versus the possible benefits of a new approach. If he used force, she would be more afraid of him. If he tried the hitherto untested tactic of coercion, she might… not be.
He reeled with the possibilities. At the forefront of them all was the foreign longing for the return of her hands to his chest. He wanted to know if it felt good a second time, too.
The modulator in his helmet scrubbed all inflection and identifying features from his voice, so she couldn’t hear the cautiousness in his tone when he said, “It’s late. You were attacked. You are alone. It’s my duty to get you home safely.”
She shifted her feet nervously in the grit and dust of the passageway. “No offense, but you’re, like, really scary.”
“Correct.” He nodded toward the alley’s exit.
A soft sound escaped her. It wasn’t quite a laugh but it was close. A new light entered her eyes when she peered up at him then. It looked something like curiosity. “Most people would try to deny it or maybe put the other person at ease.”
Sloane couldn’t readily recall a time when he’d willingly spoken this much, let alone put someone at ease. “I have no reason to do that. Your observation was correct. I am scary. It’s an advantage.”
There was a long moment of silence. With a twist of her full lips, she appeared to accept the fact that he wouldn’t be swayed. Still eyeing him, she turned toward the exit.
Sloane tucked his hands behind his back and shortened his strides to match her much shorter legs as he followed her out onto the street.
“Is it always?” she asked, running her fingers through her hair with a nervous flick of her wrist.
He had to think hard about his answer. Not because it was a difficult question, but because he found himself distracted by the curve of her jaw when she tilted her head just-so.
“Usually,” he amended.
Truthfully, it was very rare that he encountered a situation that couldn’t be turned in his favor with a large dose of terror. Fear made prey stupid. Stupid prey made for easy killing. Killing gave him meaning.
Everything had its place.
But he didn’t want to see fear in this woman’s eyes. It served no purpose. If he didn’t want to kill her or extract information from her, then it was a useless tool. He’d have to find a better one to get what he wanted, which was, at that precise moment, to get her to safety.
And to be touched by her again.
His blood still rushed in his veins, too hot, as they walked down the quiet street. The few people out in the hour before sunrise gave him a wide berth, which suited him just fine. He didn’t like the idea of anyone getting too close to his charge. The thought filled him with a deep and dangerous sort of discontent. It was the same way he felt about his few possessions.
No one was allowed to touch his things. No one was allowed to even look at them. What was his washis.End of story.
“Have you been a Patrol officer long?”
Sloane’s gaze moved from examining the street for threats to tracing the contours of her profile in an instant. “Yes,” he answered, surprising himself.
Her dark brows furrowed. “Do you like it?”
“That is irrelevant.”
“How? Shouldn’t everyone like what they do? Even just a little?”
He watched her closely, more curious about the inner workings of her mind than anything else. He’d never thought to talk to prey before and had no idea what truly motivated them. “Do you?”
“Not really,” she admitted, rubbing her shoulders. Only then did he notice that her sweater was gone. Lost, he realized, sometime during the scuffle with Cole. A sharp need struck him when he imagined that soft garment lost in the filth of the alley.
Oblivious, she continued, “But there are good parts about working in a vampire bar. It pays the bills and works with my school schedule. I get to be with my best friend, usually, and it can be… exciting. I swear I don’t have creeps following me home on a regular basis.”
Sloane found himself grinding his fangs, unconsciously sharpening them as he imagined what it must be like for a creature as soft and vulnerable as her to work in a vampire bar. “That’s too dangerous. You should find a new job.”
