That should probably be illegal.
His eyes are so dark they look black at first glance, but flecks of blue catch the light when he shifts, like someone scattered bits of sapphire through ink.
For a second, I completely forget what we’re talking about.
Or why he’s standing in my doorway.
Or why Casey is acting like his brain got unplugged and plugged back in wrong.
Am I drooling?
“You were frightened,” Officer Stud Muffin says again, his voice lower than before. Softer somehow. “You left the establishment immediately afterward and returned home.”
That strange warmth slides through me again.
Like the answer is already there and all I have to do is accept it.
I hate it instantly.
“We were frightened because one of them nearly killed my friend.”
His brow furrows slightly, like that wasn’t the response he was expecting.
“Kal—”
“No, Casey. You literally almost got strangled.”
Casey’s hand rises automatically to his throat.
“Oh.” He blinks and confusion flashes across his face. “Right.”
For a second it looks like he’s waking up from something.
Then his attention starts drifting back toward Officer Stud Muffin, and that distant look creeps in again.
Absolutely not.
I step sideways and plant myself squarely between them.
“What the hell is happening?”
The question hangs there.
Officer Stud Muffin doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t blink.
Doesn’t even look annoyed.
He just stares at me with those stupidly beautiful eyes, all dark blue flecks and impossible calm, like he’s waiting for something.
Like if he stands there long enough, I’ll suddenly start reciting his version of events back to him.
Not happening.
And honestly?
I’m getting a little tired of being the only person in this conversation making any sense.
