Page 34
The stairs creaked under my boots. Fourth floor. The walk-up would’ve left most people winded, but I barely noticed. My mind was too busy running through conversations I hadn’t had yet, explanations that sounded flimsy even in my own head.
I’d bitten him.
My wolf had chosen him, and I’d marked him without asking, without explaining, without giving him a single fucking reason to trust me. The mark on his shoulder was a bond he hadn’t agreed to. A choice I’d made for both of us.
His door was the third on the left. I raised my hand to knock, then paused. Through the wood, I could hear music playing. Something with a heavy beat and lyrics I didn’t recognize, along with the sound of him moving around inside—footsteps, the creak of a cabinet, the clink of a glass.
Man up and do the right thing. No distractions.
I knocked.
The music cut off mid-chorus. Footsteps approached the door. The lock clicked, then he was there, backlit by the warm glow of his apartment, wearing a cropped sweater that left a strip of his stomach bare and pants that looked like they’d been painted on.
“Deadeye.” His voice was flat. Not surprised. Not pleased. Just flat. The fuck did that mean?
“Niles.”
He stepped back to let me in, but his body language was all wrong. Stiff shoulders. Crossed arms. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The apartment was clean—cleaner than usual. The magazines were stacked. The plant had been watered. The suit bag was nowhere in sight.
Something was off.
“Can I get you something?” He moved toward the kitchen, already pulling a glass from the cabinet. “Water? Beer? I think I have some white wine that’s been in the fridge since before I moved in.”
“Water’s fine.”
He filled the glass from the tap and handed it to me. Our fingers didn’t touch. He stepped back quickly, putting distance between us, and leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms still folded over his chest.
The male was pissed.
“So,” he said, “what brings you here? More hypotheticals? Because I actually fixed the hallway light by myself today. No phone calls required. Very proud moment.”
“Not hypotheticals.”
His expression flickered—something quick and unreadable—before the smile snapped back into place. I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue this conversation without a cup protecting my genitals.
“Dramatic,” he said. “Should I sit down for this?”
“Might help.”
He didn’t sit. He stayed against the counter, fingers drumming against his bicep. The beat was irregular. Nervous. Niles was never nervous. Chaotic, yes. Anxious, sometimes. But not nervous like this—controlled and seven kinds of wrong.
“Niles—”
“Do you want to sit outside?” The question came out fast, almost cutting me off. His eyes darted toward the window, then back to me.
What in the hell was going on?
“The fire escape has a nice view. Very romantic. Or we could stay here. Inside. Where there are walls and no moonlight. Your choice.”
My gut went cold.
Moonlight.
He knew. He fucking knew the truth, or I was being a paranoid prick. His jitteriness was only fueling my suspicions.
I didn’t ask how. I didn’t ask who told him. The way he said it made it clear this wasn’t a coincidence. He’d chosen that word on purpose. He’d thrown it at me like a grenade and was waiting to see if I’d flinch.
“Inside is fine,” I said.
