Page 19
“Oh, my God!” The air withers in my chest as I force speed from my legs, and when I look back again, the damn beast has already gained on me, hoofing it on all fours.
It’s going to maul me right here in this hallway.
The staff are going to come back tomorrow morning to find my body half eaten by a monster.
Aunt Midge was right. This was stupid. So fucking stupid it hurts.
An unyielding force hits me from the side and something grips my shoulders. A scream rips from my chest as the ache of the blow settles into my bones, and I look up to see a massive chest with a light covering of dark hair behind the few unbuttoned clasps of a black shirt. Broad shoulders stretch the fabric that clings tight to massive biceps that’re bunched at either side of me, while fingers dig into my arms. A chiseled jawline, dusted in a five o’clock shadow, bears grisly scars and slices, the fine lines of contractured skin fanning out from each wound.
He releases me and I take a step back, my whole body quaking as I stare into liquid amber eyes, which are narrowed in a royally pissed-off expression that screws up the mangled half of his face. Ghastly to look at, but nowhere near the monstrous appearance I’d heard others describe. Personally, I think he’s kind of handsome, in a rough, edgy sort of way, but I’ll keep that to myself. In a matter of seconds, my eyes suck in as many details as they can grasp.
The flawless half of his face lends insight into how he might have once looked --olive-toned skin, deep chestnut colored hair that has a slightly ruffled appeal, the perfect symmetry just begging to be captured by a sharp charcoal pencil, while the other half is ruined by the scars for which he’s known.
Shadows hide much of what I imagine is hard to look at in bright light, but those eyes practically glow with malice as he stares back at me.
Don’t stare. Shit!
“I … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … I was just …” The dog. Christ, the dog! I turn away from the man to find the dog sitting at attention behind me, its tongue lolled out to the side, tail wagging.
As if the bastard was playing with me?
Turning my attention back toward the man, undoubtedly Lucian Blackthorne, whose stature and size leaves me feeling small and insignificant, I lower my gaze to his hands, the right mutilated by fewer scars than his face. Strong with long fingers and a map of veins that extends up into his forearms, they seem well designed for throttling, if he gets the notion. “He chased me.”
“You run. He chases. That’s what dogs do.” His voice is a deep, rich sound that practically vibrates on the air. Smooth and immaculate, it doesn’t match his scars. It’s a sound that hums in my chest, the kind of hypnotic timbre that lingers in the ear after he’s spoken.
“I didn’t realize it was in play.”
“You’re the new girl.” It isn’t a question, because it’s apparently obvious, and he says it as if he’s just tasted something sour and bitter and is looking to spit it out. In spite of the fact that I’m on his payroll, making more money here than any of the odd jobs I’d find downtown, he doesn’t even know my name. Imagine that. A place in this town where someone is disgusted with me as a person and not simply because I’m Jenny Quinn’s daughter.
“Yes. I’m Isa. Or Izzy. Whichever you’d prefer.”
“I’d prefer that you watch where you’re going.”
“Takes two to collide.” It’s a bad habit, talking back. One that’s gotten me in trouble more times than I care to admit, but it’s also completely reflexive. I can’t help the things that fly out of my mouth sometimes, and it sucks, because he’s obviously been through some stuff. I know from my own experience how things like rejection and ridicule can turn someone into a stony wall of Back the hell off. “I just mean, you could’ve easily stepped aside when you saw me coming.”
“Smartass?” Leaning forward just enough that I can feel the heat of his frustration rolling off his skin, can practically taste the delicious cologne he’s wearing, he drills those fiery eyes into me as if they’re laser beams shooting out his sockets. “You’ll find the best way to stay employed in this house is by staying on my good side.”
I literally have to bite my lips together to keep from asking which half he considers his good side. Again, reflexive, brought on by years of torment at the hands of my asshole classmates, when I was forced to stand my ground, or swallow their crap.
This job means too much to me. My freedom. My independence. And I am singlehandedly blowing this first meeting, so to respond with, “My apologies,” requires a kind of tongue-biting self-control I’ve not yet mastered.
“Your boots are loud and clumsy. I can hear them all the way in the east wing. Find a different pair, if you insist on running through the halls.”
“These are the only shoes I brought with me.” Eyes on his, I lift my leg, bending my knee as I stand on one foot, hopping to keep balanced while I slide the boot off and set it to the floor beside me. Same with the other. “Anything else about my outfit you don’t like?”
Chin tipped at a condescending angle, he dips his gaze, and a sneer tugs at his ruined lips. “Perhaps a pair of pants that don’t make you look like you were in a brawl with a wolverine.”
This guy is something else.
“Would you have me remove those, too?” Biting my tongue once again, I set my fingers to the buttons of my jeans in mocking, as if to take them off, and catch a flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement, maybe? A dare?
Ignoring my question, he steps past me, as if already bored with our exchange, and snaps his fingers. “Sampson.”
The dog follows after him, down the hallway.
There’s a regal arrogance to the way he walks, the easy stroll of a powerful man who doesn’t give a shit about some local Townie clown who wears fishing mucks for shoes.
I turn away toward my path again and exhale a shaky breath. I’ve never met a human being so intense in my life. As if the very air crackled around him, threatening to strike out at me. Which probably would’ve felt better than the fly-in-the-soup attitude I got instead. Like I was nothing in this guy’s day, aside from the nuisance who didn’t watch where she was going.
