"I don't know what you want me to say," I fiddle with my purse, debating if it would be worth it to pull out my phone and call someone. But once again, these fucking Balor boys have put me in a position where there isn't much that can be done legally. He hasn't threatened me, hasn't hurt me. Saying he forced me into the car to keep me away from people following me would get him a slap on the back more than any meaningful consequences. "I'm not the one continuously breaking and entering."
"You could keep him away if you really wanted to."
I scoff, "You mean by putting up a whole security system to lock out unwanted visitors? Or by threatening to call the police?"
Finally, he casually rolls his head to face me, looking at me through impassive eyes, “Why did you come by Balor today, Brigit?"
Breathing out through my nose, I tell him what I already said to Cormac, "The hoodie."
"That's all?" he pries.
"Yeah," I lie to him and myself. "That's all."
"Then why step in and help him with the poachers?”
I spit out the excuse I was telling myself the entire time, "It was the right thing to do."
"Really?" His dark eyes swim with dark humor as the sarcastic word rolls off his tongue.
"I thought maybe he would hurt one of them," I try again.
His sardonic smile grows, "That's abetterlie, at least. Are you this shitty at being honest with Fomori?"
Yes.
"I'm not lying," and in this instance, I'm not. Not exactly. "Ididthink he was going to hurt one of them. His teeth were grinding together, and even though he was shying away from them, he... I don't know, he looked different. Carried himself like an animal posing to strike, not a cornered, scared man. His eyes were dark and hazy. It took a few seconds for him to even realize I was there, fighting through them to get to him first."
"Yeah, you probably did save a reporter’s life today," he laughs. "But that can't bewhyyou stepped in."
"Why not?"
"Because you inserted yourself right into the grip of a serial killer without any fear for yourself. And then you didn't even hesitate to protect him," he shrugs.
I groan, "What am I supposed to say?"
"You could just admit you care about him. Thatmaybeyou even like him a little bit," he suggests with a yawn. "Your denial is getting soboringand I'm sick of hearing about it."
My eyes narrow, glaring at this strange, scary contradiction of a man. His casual, take-nothing-seriously attitude doesn't match the depth of what he's getting at, and I don't know how to respond to it.
"What would it help? It wouldn't matter. It wouldn'tchangeanything," I shrug one shoulder, pushing my hair over it.
"Okay, sure. Then why are you so fucking scared of the possibility?" he asks.
When I can't respond, my mouth opening and closing again without an argument, he grins at me like he's won something.
And maybe he has.
“Look, Brigy, Cormac is delicate right now," he warns. "I don't think even he realizes how close to snapping he is."
I swallow, "I know."
I've seen the darkness welling up, beneath the playful taunting and the endless flirting.
I saw it today, even.
"Do you?" he raises a brow.
With a nod, I take a deep breath, "I'm assuming he told you about my other visitor."
