Julius’s presence.
His voice.
His love?
Thatfelt like home to me.
Hefelt like home to me.
While Kraven felt like a storm, I couldn’t outrun it.
His heady stare turned wicked, his eyes widening with a sly grin. “You really are trying to start a fire, huh?”
I scoffed out a chuckle, desperately trying not to blush, knowing it was useless by the expression on his face.
“So I get to see you in white and a flush of pink, both equally dangerous.” He pivoted fast, adding, “You’re going to freeze dressed like that.”
I shrugged, trying to imply I was used to it. Grabbing the jean jacket out of my hand, he threw it on the back of the couch and made his way toward the hall closet. He opened the door and pulled out a hoodie.
He tossed it at me, and I caught it in the air.
“Wear mine instead,” he ordered.
The fabric and scent felt familiar for some reason.
Why?
Like his brother, he read my mind, stating, “You were wearing it the night you passed out on Julius’s bike.”
I passed out on there?
“You don’t remember?”
Did I mouth that, or is he suddenly telepathic?
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Julius didn’t tell you about the night he brought you here?”
In his defense, I didn’t ask him. I wasn’t ready for the follow-up questions he had every right to ask me when I did.
Perhaps I was finally ready to discuss it, or maybe I just felt compelled to explain myself, wanting him to like me. All in all, I was a nice girl, and I never had anyone hate me before. At least not someone my age.
When I didn’t respond, he did for me. “Well,” he reaffirmed, “you were quite the sight that night and not in the way you are right now.” He waited, contemplating his words, until he stated, “You were covered in blood and looked like you fought your way out of hell. Any truth to that?”
I nodded anxiously, and he nodded warily back.
“By the time Julius drove you here on his bike,” he continued, “you were passed out in his arms. Roland fixed you up, and thenyou woke up in Julius’s bed two days later. The rest… well, that, you know.”
A desperation filled my heart, making me sick to my stomach.
He didn’t waver, straightaway questioning, “Was it your parents or fosters you ran from?”
Willingly giving him what he sought, I mouthed…
“Fosters.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
