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Logan’s eyes, dark as oil, liquefied and slowly changed color until they burned through the gloom like twin points of crimson fire.
“Where did you . . . how did you . . .” she began breathlessly, but the look in his eyes silenced her. His dark hair was slicked back and his clothes clung to him, like a wet second skin. The man sported more than a six-pack and she could see every single one of his abs.
He was hard. Unyielding.
He moved closer and the heat from his body caressed her flesh with an intimate brush that left her trembling. Kira couldn’t look away if she wanted to.
When he was near everything was off kilter. Down was up. Back was front. Dark was light. There was something primal about Logan that scared the crap out of her, and yet, for whatever reason, she was drawn to him.
He was the beast—the harbinger of her nightmares—but he was also the man who’d brought her back from that dark place. The man who’d saved her less than an hour ago.
He was the only thing that seemed real in this place.
His eyes burned through the mirror and he did a slow perusal, traveling the length of her—lingering on her breasts even as her hands drew up to cover them—and sweeping down to the juncture between her legs.
Kira’s cheeks burned red, hot with humiliation. Her body trembled and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. She’d never been naked with a man before . . . not like this. Mergerone, his hands and crazed eyes, didn’t count. Confusion didn’t come close to describing the thoughts that flew around inside her head.
His eyes narrowed and she didn’t like the sly grin that spread across his face as he leaned in even closer—so close that his scent wafted in the air, filling her nostrils. He was all male, full of spice, musk . . . sweat and danger.
Kira’s hands were frozen in midair—she wanted to cover herself, but she paused instead and shoved her chin up. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of knowing he’d gotten under her skin.
“A real gentleman would turn around.”
His teeth flashed white as his smile widened, though his eyes remained hard as stone. “Lady, there’s nothing gentle about me, and as you now know, I’m no man, either.”
“No shit,” she muttered under her breath.
“And as much as I appreciate the peep show, I’d get into some clothes if I were you.”
Her eyes flashed steel blue as she met his gaze full-on. “What? Don’t think you can control yourself around me?”
“Control isn’t the issue.” His smile vanished and the flame that lit his eyes intensified. “This isn’t a game, little girl.” She swallowed heavily at his low growl. “And it’s not me you should be worried about.”
Logan nodded toward the store window and Kira’s stomach clenched so tight she thought she was going to be sick. Hundreds of the same creatures that had come after them in the park lined the sidewalk opposite Le Grand Design. Hundreds. They stood shoulder to shoulder and stared toward the store in silence.
The red moon had disappeared and rain now fell, great big drops of it that splattered up inches upon hitting the pavement. The alley behind them, the other storefronts—all of it had disappeared. There were only the trojans. It was truly a sobering sight. Gray mist mingled with shadows and light that slithered across their powerful forms. Massive heads with dark, silent eyes looked as if they could stare into her soul.
“Shit,” she whispered.
Logan ignored her, scooped her clothes off the floor, and tossed them at her none too gently. He turned around and she supposed she should be grateful for that, but she caught sight of the muscle that worked its way across his cheek, the tight set to his mouth.
That spelled worry and that scared her more than anything.
Trying to ignore the painful tightness in her chest, she dragged the jeans up over her hips and pulled the t-shirt over her head. Next she slipped her feet into the boots and straightened up, her gaze settled on the crowd outside.
“What are they waiting for?”
A long moment passed before he answered, his rough voice loud in the quiet.
“They’re done waiting. The master has arrived.”
Chapter Eight
LOGAN’S SHOULDER HURT like a son of a bitch. He cracked his neck and put the pain aside. One of the trojans had latched on but good before he’d had a chance to snap the bastard’s neck.
He glanced outside once more and frowned. A sore shoulder was the least of his worries.
“You dressed?” Creamy flesh; soft, feminine lines; and long bits of hair flashed before his eyes. He shook his head aggressively. No fucking time for that either.
