His strong shoulders sag slightly, almost as though he’s disappointed in my response. I don’t know why—I’m being perfectly friendly.
And still, I don’t understand him.
I wish I could see inside his head for just a second so I could know whether I’m imagining all this tension or if it’s actually there.
Because if I am, I’d really like to stop tripping over it or, you know, procure an invisibility cloak from Harry Potter and make myself disappear whenever he’s around.
Or, hell, maybe it’d be easier if he could see insidemyhead.
If he could hear what I’m thinking, then he’d understand that I’m not trying to make his job harder. I’m not doing the trash-can sprint every week to be annoying; I’m just tired and scattered and trying not to fall apart at the seams.
He’d see that I don’t have anything against him.
If anything, I wish I could get to know you better,my mind whispers.
And I almost say it.
I open my mouth, but then I quickly smash my lips shut.
Some things are probably better left in my head.
Rook
Kylie’s arms cross tighter over her voluptuous chest, and her knees turn inward against the cold as she looks at me like she’s waiting for something I don’t know how to give.
I look everywhere but at her.
Because if I don’t, I’m going to do something reckless—like pull her against me, sink my teeth into the steady thrum at her neck, and lose myself in the way our bodies would fit together if I let them.
Every minute—every fucking second—the pressure in my chest grows heavier. It isn’t desire alone. It’s overwhelming need. And it’s sharp and constant and feels like something pressing against every cell inside my body.
Just last month, I was a man with his own boundaries. His own decisions. His own rules. Now, it feels like something is leaning on me from the inside, testing every single thing I thought I knew. Like my body and mind and cold heart are trying to morph into a vessel for something that is far greater than me.
Even this morning, getting out of the truck to grab her forgotten can wasn’t a choice. It was a pull. One I didn’t bother fighting because I didn’t think it mattered.
And fuck, the pull is only growing stronger now. The need to just becloseto her is fucking with my head.
To make things worse, I can smellhimhere—feel his intentions in the wood of the siding and the pores of the concrete beneath us—and every destructive part of me begs to be unleashed. To hunt him. To kill him. To burn the entire damn roster of the Fighting Fangs alive if I have to.
Because if I can feel him like this, that means he was here last night.
This morning, maybe.
That means he’s getting desperate enough to take chances, and when a man like Holland Thorne is cornered—his whole spoon-fed life on the line—he’ll do dangerous things.
Why? Why can’t he look me in the eye?
The thought cuts through the noise like it doesn’t belong to me.
It’s like there’s a wall between us, and if I could just chip away at the top few bricks, I’d be able to see him better.
I stiffen.
Those thoughts aren’t mine. But they’re sliding through my mind slowly, unfamiliar in texture and weighted with emotion that doesn’t originate in my body. And yet, somehow, they feel far more personal than those I hear in visions or from other people’s minds when they willingly open them up to me.
Why do I want him to look at me so badly? Why do I want him to favor me? To be soft with me? Why does it bother me so much that Rook Slater hates me? Why—
Realization overwhelms me in a jolt, and I startle, my eyes jumping to Kylie’s ocean-blue gaze and holding. I’m hearingher.Her thoughts, her worries, her insecurities aboutme…
