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After I’ve changed out of my clothes and wrapped myself in the plush bathrobe, I pull my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head and brush my teeth using the complimentary disposable brush I found in the bathroom. All the while trying to avoid my reflection in the mirror.
I rinse out my mouth and exhale slowly before walking out of the bathroom.
A scream tears its way up my throat when my eyes land on Atlas, lounging in the wingback chair in the corner of the bedroom. Something in me—survival instincts maybe—kicks in, and I race toward the door. The table I had pushed in front of it is back where it was when I arrived.What the hell?I barely get the door open an inch before Atlas reaches past me and slams it shut. He grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around to face him. My back hits the closed door, and I immediately start fighting him.
“You want to do this again?” he asks with a subtle head tilt.
“Fuck you,” I snap, but cease shoving at his chest for a moment to catch my breath.
His eyes roam my face before dropping to my chest where my robe has fallen open. His gaze freezes there, and the air leaves my lungs.
“Kade wanted to come get you,” he says in a low voice, his eyes hooded. He’s so close I could count his dark lashes. You know, if I wasn’t preoccupied with trying to get away from him.
I swallow past the dryness in my throat. “So why areyouhere then?” I force out.
“Be glad it’s me, Calla.” His eyes finally lift back to my face as he reaches forward and closes my robe. “He was keen on punishing you for running away.”
I wet my lips, tipping my head back against the door so I can meet his gaze. “And you?”
He shakes his head. “What I’d like to do to you…”
“You’re going to kill me,” I say in a flat voice. It’s the only conclusion I’ve come to. No matter what happens, these men will be my end.
Atlas blinks at me. His eyes are dark but there’s something else in them. He looks tired. “I’m not here to kill you.”
“Doesn’t mean it won’t happen,” I say, my throat suddenly thick with emotion. “You may not even mean to do it—any of you—but it will happen.”
His expression remains impassive. “You’re so convinced we’re monsters.”
“Aren’t you?” I whisper.
He purses his lips in thought for a moment. “Perhaps to some.” He leans in and brushes his fingers along my cheek. “But not you.”
My jaw clenches against his hand as confusion floods through me. “Then let me go,” I plead, holding his gaze. “Tell the others you couldn’t find me. I’ll get on a plane and—”
He drops his hand, and my skin tingles where he was touching. “We will find you wherever you run. When are you going to realize that?”
I grab the front of his shirt without thinking, wrinkling the soft cotton material between my fingers. “Why? What could you possibly want from me? You’ve essentially ruined my life, stolen my future, and for what?”
He peers down at where I’m white-knuckling his shirt before meeting my gaze again. “We’ve waited a long time for you, Calla.”
I shake my head, my brows tugging together. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s not a simple one.”
A shiver runs through me, and I swallow hard when I catch a flash of his elongated canines. “You’re going to feed on me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. What else could they want me for besides a personal human vending machine?
His eyes shift between mine, but he doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes.” Again he leans in until his lips are next to my ear, his breath tickling the skin below my earlobe. “What’s more, you’ll enjoy every second of it.”
I suck in a breath when he presses his mouth to the pulse at my neck. His tongue darts out and flicks against my skin, and my head swims. I grip his shirt tighter, though I’m not sure if it’s to pull him closer or shove him away. His proximity—and ridiculously powerful pheromones—are messing with my head something fierce, and I despise that they affect me so much even though I want to kill him. Because that’s the only way I can see out of this—it’s either me or them.
Then Atlas steps back, and I let go. A flush creeps across my cheeks, and I look away, suddenly embarrassed by the heat pooling in my belly. I quickly walk toward the sitting area, wanting to put some distance between us so I can think clearly.
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about your response to me. Or feel shy about what your body desires, for that matter,” Atlas says, following me and lowering himself into one of the chairs.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie. “I’m sleep-deprived, that’s all.”
“With how tightly wound you are, I’d say you’re more thansleep-deprived.”
