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My eyes narrow.

She smiles. And something low in my gut clenches.

“Belinda.”

Belinda.

The name settles into me far too easily.

“Belinda?”

Her expression shifts.

Just slightly.

Like she hears something in my voice that I don't.

“Belinda Ramos.”

Ramos.

I look at the house. Then back at her.

This won’t do.

“I live here now. This was my aunt's place. She left it to me.”

Fuck.

“Your aunt was Margarita?”

Her posture changes.

“You knew her?”

“I did.”

Her smile disappears.

I don't like that.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

She means it.

So do I.

We stand there for one strange, quiet second while her scent continues to torture me.

Then one of my wings twitches.

Enough. This woman cannot live next door to me.

Not smelling like that.

Not looking like that.