“It’s not that simple.”
“So explain it to me.” I desperately want to understand how all of this works. How this is happening. Ineedto understand. “Please.”
A low breath escapes from his lips, and his jaw ticks. He’s hesitant. “What I can tell you,” he finally says, “is that there’s supposed to be a connection linking me to where I’m from. And right now, it’s gone.” He turns away, effectively ending the conversation.
I have more questions for him—so many questions. But it’s clear he won’t be answering them just yet. He needs space. Privacy. Time to work out whatever’s going on in his head.
After tugging the silver throw from the foot of my bed, I settle onto the rocking chair. Really I want my bed, but that’d probably be too weird. His presence may have temporarily distracted me from my aching bones and sore muscles, but now that he’s slunk away into his own private shell, the dull throbbing seems dead set on returning full force. Exhaustion consumes me. I groan as I adjust my position, crossing my ankles and draping the throw across myself.
His head shifts toward me at the sound, just enough to reveal the strong angle of his jaw, the straight line of his nose. His lashes cast downward. He doesn’t say anything, though, and turns back to the window after a moment.
Flicking through the channels is nothing more than a means of appearing occupied. I don’t want to reveal to him how much of my attention he really has, how my thoughts gravitate toward him like a magnet, even when I try to distract myself with other things.
The silence drones on,tick tick tick. Each second dragged out by the tall shadow he casts over my room, the heat emanating off of him, spilling into the air and filling every corner.Thump thump thump, my heart smacks against my chest. I’m not naïve, nor inexperienced. I may have only been fully intimate with one man in my life, but I’ve never been shy, not about my body. Not about my physical reactions to certain things. Certain men. As much as I wish it wasn’t the case, I know exactly why he sends shivers through my body, warm vibrations across every inch of my skin.
“Why are you hurting?”
My stomach pulls tight at the hum of his voice, like I’ve been caught.He can’t read your mind, Lou. The reminder helps my muscles unclench.
“What do you mean?”
He wheels around fully, so he’s facing me, and gestures toward my body. “You’re in pain. Why?”
“Oh.” I swear my relief is tangible. “Long day at work.” When his eyebrows draw together, two hard lines forming between them, I clarify, “Cleaning. A lot of scrubbing and kneeling. I’m fine, just still getting used to it.”
His lips purse, but he says nothing. The way he’s watching me, cautious yet almost fascinated, makes my throat thicken. I don’t think he even knows he’s lowered his guard enough to let me glimpse it, that look in his smoky, dark eyes.
I clear my throat. “You can sit down.” His gaze follows my nod toward the loveseat just a few feet away from me. When he doesn’t move, I add, “It’d make us both more comfortable.”
I watch as he crosses the room and lowers himself into the seat, taking a ragged breath and leaning forward so his forearms are resting on his knees. His large frame makes the loveseat look like it was made for a child’s doll.
I know I’m staring, but I can’t help it. I’m beginning to realize just how much of an enigma this man is. A walking contradiction.
Everything about him—from his appearance to his voice to his mannerisms—is powerful, strong, filled with confidence and a foreboding sense of danger. Dark, mysterious, and deadly, in a way that will leave you breathless and unsure of what’s to come. And yet, in moments like this, where it’s just him and me, there’s a vulnerability beneath it all that draws me to him like a moth to a flame. During the moments when there’s lingering silence between us, I hear the shakiness behind his otherwise strong voice. Feel the quivering of corded muscles whenever our bodies brush up against each other. See the uncertainty flash through his hard eyes whenever he finds me looking at him.
In his world, whatever world that is, he is Death. In control and wielding all the power, he knows exactly who he is. What he’s doing. What comes next. But here, in my bedroom, he’s just a man. A man with an undercurrent of innocence that’s at clashing odds with the rest of him.
His gaze, lowered toward the ground, slowly, leisurely drifts up until it slams into mine with the heavy force of steel against steel. The green is back, emerald flames dancing behind clouds of black and grey. And with just that single look, his head slightly dipped, I know . . . Here, right now,I’mthe one with all the power.
Chapter 19
Somethingabout that knowledge sends an electric spark through me. A part of me revels in it, knowing I have more control than even he might suspect, and yet another part of me is intimidated by it. I can stand and face the cold, commanding side of him, but I almost don’t know how to respond to the glimpses of vulnerability I’m getting now.
“Tell me . . .” My voice comes out huskier than I intend. I’m not trying to seduce the man—I don’t think. “Why did you save me, that night in the lake?”
He doesn’t look away, doesn’t try to avoid the question. A thousand unspoken thoughts deepen his gaze, darken his expression. It takes him a minute to respond, but I don’t mind. I’ll be patient. I know he’s going to answer this time. Something about that green glimmer; it thaws the ice of his usually frigid stare. It adds warmth and fire, hinting at the kind of secrets I suddenly feel a burning ache to unravel.
“I needed to.” It’s a murmur, almost quiet enough to be a soothing whisper. “I recognized something about you. Your eyes, your soul. I don’t—I don’t know what it was. It felt like . . . I owed it to you.”
“Owed me my life? W-why would you owe me anything?”
He lets out a deep sigh, like he’s exhausted, and scrubs a hand over his face. “I’ve been asking myself the same damn thing.”
Neither of us speak for a long, drawn-out minute. I don’t know what to say. He recognized me? He owed me? How’s that possible? Surprising me further is the knowledge that Death would even care about such a thing. Maybe I’m too judgmental, but even if it were true—if he did owe me somehow—I wouldn’t have taken someone with his title or demeanor as the type to readily return favors.
He’s still lost in thought when he leans back against the seat, stretching his long legs out before him. His shoes almost brush my bare feet. “I got myself into this mess,” he mutters, though it’s more like a groan. “Both of us. I crossed a line that night. Did something that isn’t done—ever. Now the universe is confused, crossing more lines that aren’t meant to be crossed. Blurring them altogether. Blurring you and me together.”
His words hit me with surprising force. I never considered what that night might have resulted in for him. The consequences of such an act. How it’s affecting him, his world, everything he knows. Everything he’s a part of. It’s like a thread that’s come loose, slowly unraveling and taking everything he knows with it.
