I’m not even pissed. I can’t refute the truth.
I give him a nasty smile, flashing him my fangs. “No, I’m not.”
Vampires usually flash their fangs at humans to intimidate them. For vampires, it’s a great way to sayfuck youand show them you’re not afraid. All vampires care about is their standing in their world, where they fall in the pecking order. The more power you have, the higher your rank.
But my plan backfires.
Instead of being pissed off, Stanton’s eyes darken, like I just offered for him to fuck me, and damn if my stupid heart doesn’t thump in my chest. Not in fear—heaven forbid that I have any survival instincts—but in curiosity.
Fuck me!
A growl rumbles from the barbarian, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck, and he thumps his fist against the glass so hard that I’m shocked it doesn’t shatter under the impact. My attention snaps back toward him. I expect him to snarl at me, but my attention seems to calm him somewhat. His shoulders relax and tension leaves his face, but the intensity in his blue eyes doesn’t fade.
If anything, it’s even more pronounced.
Like he’s peering into my very soul.
I still, and it takes everything inside me not to lower my eyes and hide so he won’t see the black stains on my soul from all the horrible things I’ve done.
A rumble comes from his chest. It should strike terror through my heart, but my insides liquify under his attention. Delicious heat curls through me, and I release a shuddering breath as I take a step toward him.
I narrow my eyes on the barbarian, wondering what kind of stunt he’s trying to pull, but he appears to be under the same spell…only he’s not fighting it.
I snap my fingers in front of his face, and he rears back, his brows immediately coming down into the fierce scowl I’m used to seeing on these assholes. And man, he looks pissed at having his fantasy shattered.
And, if I’m being truthful, I miss it as well.
A familiar chill invades my chest, and I almost beg him to give that sexy growl again, anything to make the loneliness go away. Instead, I grit my teeth and hold back my whimper.
I didn’t beg when I was dying, and I won’t do it now.
I cross my arms, grimacing when the cold paper material of my scrubs crinkles and brushes against my skin. “The very least you can do while I’m here is give me decent clothing.”
Stanton gets a look on his face that I don’t like, a little smirk playing on his lips as he saunters closer, and it immediately puts me on edge. “Consider yourself lucky Milo took pity on you. Most people we toss into the cell are naked.”
Flashbacks of being in Dafoe’s mansion crash through my barriers.
Of being pinned down.
Stripped.
Exposed.
Heavy rock music blasts through the room, snapping me out of my spiral. Milo peers up at me over his tablet with concerned green eyes, his shoulders only wilting when it seems my sanity has returned.
Blood drips from my hands from where my claws gouged through my palms. My fangs ache with a dull throb, and when I taste blood, I realize I bit through my lip.
I glance around the room in confusion, and it takes a second to remember I’m safe.
Well, as safe as I can be while locked in a fucking cage.
I blink in surprise when I spot the barbarian. He has Stanton pinned to the wall with a single, tattooed hand around his throat. His shirt is stretched tight over his back, nearly bursting at the seams, and damn if I can’t see the individual cords of his muscles through the material.
Why is that so fucking hot?
Shaking my head to clear it, I notice Milo frantically trying to calm the barbarian down. I glance at the Viking and nearly snort when I see him with his arms crossed, calmly looking at his nails instead of helping.
The lack of panic on Stanton’s face tells me this must be a frequent occurrence.
