“Hey.” I kind of slap Gunnar’s arm up near the shoulder. His head turns to the side slowly, and he examines me. The man at the door makes a quick gasping noise. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he leans his upper body the tiniest bit forward, as if he’s about to intervene between Gunnar and me. “We’re not done with this conversation,” I announce.
The man at the door volleys his head back and forth, like he can’t decide who to look at—me or Gunnar. I tap my toe, becoming impatient as Gunnar continues to stare at me.
“We will have to finish our conversation later, my lady.” Gunner barely opens his mouth when he speaks, but I do get a glimpse of sharper than normal teeth.
“Are you sure you’re not a shifter?” I go up on my tippy toes to try to get a closer look at his face and mouth.
“Ho-ly fuck!” the man at the door mutters.
I spare him a glance. He’s acting weird.
“No,” comes Gunnar’s single word response.
I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m not waiting here in this nasty-ass office while you go be Vanessa’s errand boy,” I spout, mad that he would leave me to go to her. I knew I didn’t like that bitch.
“You will go where I think you’ll be safest,” Gunnar argues.
“Let’s just see how that works out for you, shall we?” I cross my arms over my chest again and glare at him. I’m not at all intimidated by his bulking up, or the freaky teeth. Sometimes, I wish I had something on the outside that convayed what the inside feels like. A pair of scary-ass chompers might just do the trick.
“You will go home.” Gunnar ignores my threat, and I deflate.
“Oh.” I almost pout. “Fine, but don’t think we’re done. I’ll be back here every night if necessary.” I lean in a little closer. “And I have friends that will help me find you if you try to run or hide from me.” I narrow my eyes at Gunnar, making sure he knows I’m telling the truth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man at the door shift on his feet. Gunnar’s top lip lifts in a sneer as he focuses back on the man. “Why are you still here?” he demands with a sharp bite to his words.
Without a word, the man about-faces and rushes down the hall. I hear the music grow louder when he opens the door to the club.
“Don’t send people to watch my house anymore,” I order, when the music dies down again. One of Gunnar’s eyebrows rises, but he doesn’t respond verbally. The look says, ‘I’ll do what the hell ever I want.’
I ignore him and his look, and stomp down the hall back toward the club. I don’t like feeling like I’m being dismissed. My jealousy rears its head again. I jerk the door open and scan the club for the asshole owner. I don’t spot her, but I do see Calix; his eyes were already on the door when I opened it.
Even better, I make it two steps before I feel a heavy palm on my shoulder. I don’t have to look up to know who it is. “Gunnar, you better quit putting your hands on me without my permission.” I scowl up at him. He yanks his hand back and lowers his head almost apologetically.
“Do you need me to escort you to the door?” Gunnar’s features have softened a little, but not his voice.
“Nope.” I pop the P sound. “You go deal with Vanessa. I have other things to keep me busy.” I make sure to maintain eye contact when I tell him, but then look back across the club to find Calix.
“Fuck.” I damn near stomp my foot. Twice in one night I was cockblocked by Gunnar. Calix is gone. I scan the area for him, but come up empty.
“Looking for someone?” Gunnar asks, impeding my view of the dance floor, his lips lifted into a sneer.
“I was, but he’s gone now, thanks,” I blurt, not at all thankful.
“Anytime, my lady.”
I face Gunnar again. “Would you stop calling me that? I thought you had to run off. Go!” I shoo him with my hands. “Be a good boy and run along.”
Gunnar shifts on his feet and encroaches into my space. Near my ear, he states, “Go home, Damiana. I’ll come to you when I can.”
“Don’t do me any favors, Gunnar,” I snarl, angry that his hot breath on my neck makes me want to turn around and kiss him. I walk away before he has a chance to respond, and before I have the chance to do something stupid like act on the urge to push him against the wall and kiss the shit out of him.
I’m not even paying very close attention when a man steps purposefully into my path, blocking me. “Move,” I order, not bothering with niceties.
“What’s your hurry? Want to dance?” He leers at me. Everything about him—from his black-stained aura to his over-slicked hair—is foul.
“Not on your life. Get out of my way.” Something about him feels off, something that makes my gut twist just thinking about devouring his sins.
He lifts up his palms as if to say, ‘your loss,’ but there’s something about the hardness of his jaw and the glint in his eye that’s telling me something completely different. He backs away and lets me pass without incident. I take one quick look over my shoulder to find him still watching me.
