My breath caught. Angel stood haloed by the hallway light; his shoulders tight beneath his leather jacket.
I unlocked and opened the door, heart in my throat.
Angel’s dark eyes met mine, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between us. He looked good. Tired, but the same incredibly handsome man who’d drawn me in the first time I saw him.
“Hi,” I said stupidly.
“Hey,” he said, his fingers flexing on a duffel bag gripped in his left hand. The right one, the one I’d injured, was stuffed in his jacket pocket. How bad was it? My stomach roiled at the thought.
“You okay?” I whispered, hating myself for hurting him, but I couldn’t pull my gaze from the hidden hand.
He tugged it out of his pocket, holding it out for me. A hint of a scar traced a rune through the scattering of his tattoos on the back of his hand, faint but marring the art.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
Angel let out a long breath, stepping into me. His arm slid around my waist. For three heartbeats I resisted, my hands hovering awkwardly between us, afraid to touch him. But he yanked me flush against him, his body warm and solid, and I broke.
I pressed my face into the hollow of his throat, breathing in the faint musk of his skin beneath. His pulse hammered against my lips, betraying the calm of his embrace. One of my hands fisted in the back of his jacket while the other slipped beneath the fabric to rest on his skin, absorbing the smooth heat of him.
We stood in the doorway too long to play it casual, but neither of us tried to speak. When I finally leaned back, Angel’s grip tightened briefly before loosening, his fingers caressing my side beneath my shirt as if unwilling to lose that touch.
Twelve hours of loneliness dissolved in the heat of that contact. All I could hope for was his forgiveness and patience. How had he become essential in the short amount of time I’d known him? It couldn’t be this mate-bond thing. And before him, I’d never believed in love at first sight. Lust, sure, but love? Holy fuck, was I there already? Did I love him? Was this consuming need to be with him, protect him, just exist in his presence, love?
Behind me, Nikki whistled low under her breath. “Damn. You gonna let him in, or you two just gonna eye-fuck in the doorway all night?”
Angel’s mouth twitched, but he raised a brow at me in question.
My throat tightened as I stepped aside, pulling out of his embrace as he crossed the threshold. The familiar scent of leather and his slight cat scent wrapped around me like a promise. If we had been alone, I might have thrown myself into his arms and asked him to erase the separation with his kisses. Instead, I gripped the side of the door, as though holding it open kept me grounded in formality.
Nikki stretched and unseated Nox. She tugged the page out of her sketchbook and put it on the side table. “Well, gentlemen, as much as I adore BL K-drama, seeing my best friend as the star is a little much for me.” She ruffled Ivan’s hair as she passed, earning a sleepy grumble. “Up, kiddo. Your brother’s got company.”
Ivan blinked awake, his gaze landing on Angel. For a long moment, the two just stared at each other, as if some silent shifter communication passed between them. Then Ivan noddedand scooped up Peanut Butter. Nox darted across the room and into Ivan’s room.
“Night, Angel.” Ivan glanced at me and said, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Nikki slipped by us, giving me a wink as she dashed across the hall and vanished into her apartment. Ivan grabbed another slice of cold pizza and made his way to his room. I blinked after him as his door shut, leaving Angel and me still standing awkwardly in the entry, door open.
“Sorry,” I grumbled, hating to leave his touch for even a few seconds as I shuffled him out of the doorway, closed it, and locked it. “I put your pizza in the oven. I can heat it up if you want.”
Angel set his bag down carefully, the weight of everything unsaid pressing between us. My gaze fell back to the scar on his hand.
“Does it still hurt?” My heart hammered in my throat at the question, and I looked up to meet his eyes, waiting for an accusation or a confession of my cruelty for hurting him.
“No,” Angel said.
We stood there another long minute, the apartment silent beyond the distant click, click, click of the decorative clock on the wall above the dining room table.
“Do you want me to warm up your pizza?”
“I didn’t come for pizza.”
The silence stretched between us, weighted with everything unsaid. His gaze flicked toward the door to my bedroom, then back to me. “You look exhausted. Did you sleep at all?”
I swallowed hard. “I slept.” The sort of dead sleep that happened only when I’d pushed myself too hard, and it hadn’t been restful at all. “You?”
He reached for me, and I flinched, afraid of hurting him again. “Jude…”
“I don’t want to hurt you again.”
