Or kiss him.
Or both.
Probably both.
I made my way back to the kitchen on autopilot, needing something—anything—to ground me. The manor was quiet, the other residents apparently occupied elsewhere. I found a tin of cookies in the pantry—oatmeal raisin, surprisingly normal—and was warming a few in the oven when I heard footsteps behind me.
I didn't turn around. I knew who it was. I could smell him—leather and steel and that wild forest scent, now layered with something muskier, something that made my thighs clench.
"You're still here," he said flatly.
"Where else would I be?" I pulled the cookies out of the oven and placed them on a plate. "You made it very clear I can't leave."
Silence. I could feel his gaze on my back, heavy and hot.
Finally, I turned and held out a cookie. "Here. You look like you need it."
He stared at the cookie like I was offering him poison. "What is this?"
"Oatmeal raisin. I found them in the pantry. They're good, actually—I had one earlier." When he didn't move, I stepped closer and pressed the cookie into his hand. "Every time you threaten me, I feel compelled to feed you. I don't know why. Maybe it's a defense mechanism."
He looked down at the cookie, then back at me. The wildness in his eyes had faded slightly, replaced by something that might have been confusion. Or maybe exhaustion. "You're insane."
"Probably." I picked up my own cookie and took a bite. "But I'm also stuck here, and I refuse to spend my days cowering in fear. So if you're going to keep cornering me and grinding against me and then running away, the least you can do is accept a cookie as payment for the emotional whiplash."
He made a sound that might have been a laugh—cut off so quickly I almost missed it. Then, slowly, he lifted the cookie and took a bite. His expression shifted as he chewed, surprise flickering across his features before he schooled them back into neutrality.
"It's not poisoned," I said. "I'm not that creative."
He finished the cookie in two more bites, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the tension between us shifted. It was still there—the heat, the hunger, the dangerous edge—but underneath it, something else was stirring. Something that felt almost like... recognition.
"You confuse me," he said finally, his voice low. "I don't like being confused."
"Then figure me out." I shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere."
He held my gaze for a long, breathless moment. Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
I watched him go, my heart pounding, my body still aching from his touch, my mind spinning with the impossibility of everything that had just happened.
I'd been in this manor for less than a day, and I'd already been threatened with a knife, pinned to a wall, dry-humped by a werewolf, and abandoned mid-foreplay. And somehow, impossibly, I wanted more.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I didn't have an answer. But as I finished my cookie and stared at the empty doorway where Lucien had disappeared, I realized I didn't particularly care.
I was in over my head, surrounded by monsters, and absolutely, catastrophically turned on.
And tomorrow, I was going to find out just how far I could push them all.
