Page 32 of White Noise

I suck in a breath.

It isn’t like getting shocked.

There’s no sharp sting or pain. It spreads instead, a low electrical vibration that sinks beneath my skin and travels through me in a warm pulse. My muscles tighten before I can stop them, and another wave follows when his fingertips trace the edge of my jaw.

What the actual fuck?

I press harder against the wall as if another inch of distance might somehow appear behind me.

Silas’s eyes narrow and I know right away he felt my body’s reaction.

His thumb brushes my cheek again, deliberately this time, and the static follows it. The sensation rolls through me hard enough that my breath catches, warmth pooling low in my body despite every screaming instinct telling me this man—thing, whatever the fuck he is—is dangerous.

A tiny sound escapes me before I can swallow it.

Silas goes perfectly still.

Fuck.

His gaze locks onto mine, and something in his expression changes.

The amusement disappears.

A low growl rumbles from his chest.

My pulse goes wild.

His hand slides from my cheek into the hair at the back of my head, and suddenly there is nothing almost tender about the way he’s touching me anymore.

“Do that again.”

My face burns. “I didn’t do anything.”

His eyes darken.

“Liar.”

The static still tingles where his fingers touched me, leaving my skin oversensitive and my body humming with a reaction I don’t understand and definitely didn’t fucking ask for.

“I said get away from me.”

Instead, Silas leans closer.

His scent fills my lungs again, smoke with omething warm underneath it, and I hate the way my body notices that too.

“You’re shaking.” His mouth curves, but his attention drops briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes.

“I’m cold.”

“You lie so fucking pretty, little echo.”

“Get over yourself.”

Silas gives another low laugh. “You really hate that I can tell, don’t you?”

“Tell what?”

He cocks his head, openly mocking me now.