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If heavy footsteps weren’t enough to penetrate my alcohol-induced brain and prove otherwise, the person’s sharp, aromatic scent was.
My skin prickled with awareness.
The first thing I saw when my lids lifted was a pair of large, black boots. My eyes swept upward, over dark denim and a form-fitting beater, stopping on a face with enviable bone structure.
I was unable to see the full spectrum of his eyes in the dark, but they locked with mine and didn’t look away.
Slightly confused and starting to wonder if I’d reached the ‘seeing things’ phase of a mental breakdown. I tilted my head to the side when he began to circle around me, his heavy gaze never leaving mine.
“Are you here? I mean, why are you here?”
“Haven’t you heard? We’re going to be working together again.”
“The alliance?”
“That too, but I was referring to us venturing across the Badlands.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. The room was suddenly feeling much smaller than it had approximately two minutes ago.
“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing in here right now, with me.”
“I followed you, waited outside to make sure you weren’t going to burst into tears, and then decided it was safe to join you when you didn’t.”
“I’m a lot of things, but safe isn’t one of them.”
“Oh, I know that, little dea.”
Perplexed, my brows met as I tried to decipher that. “D…e…a? Is that an insult?”
The bit of moonlight streaming through the small window above Butcher’s bed illuminated his smirk. That and my undeniable attraction to him greatly annoyed me.
It was like the longer I stared, the more severely my pesky demons raised their curious heads, sensing something I couldn’t. That promptly had me putting an end to our staring contest and standing up, bottle tight in hand.
He stopped his predatory circulation just a few inches away, and I studied his
person. Had he always been so much taller than me? And why wasn’t he wearing an actual shirt? His muscular arms were fully on display… Half the female acolytes probably combusted as he walked by.
I had to stop myself from taking a step backward, raising my chin to make eye contact again.
“What do you want?”
“I came to check on…” he paused and raked his gaze down my body so thoroughly I felt oddly exposed, “a friend.”
I swallowed at the intonation, and a bitter laugh slipped between us. “You and I are not—and nor have we ever been—friends.”
“We are now.”
“That isn’t how it works.”
“There’s no need to make it some complicated discussion. We’re friends.”
“Why do you keep saying it like that?”
“Saying it like what?” he asked innocently.
I clenched my teeth and debated swinging at him with the bottle. “We’re friends?”
“Yes,” he replied slowly.
