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“Seriously,“ I say. “We’ll just talk.“
She narrows her eyes, then I see the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Alright, demonhunter,“ she says. “I believe you. Come in.“
TRINE
Idon’t know what I was thinking.
After our conversation in the car I realized that I felt like sobbing and the feeling didn’t really go away until I was in the bedroom by myself.
I don’t want to go see my mother. I don’t want to be possessed. I don't want to help Tom Souter.
I want to crawl under my quilt and scream until I can’t breathe.
But I don’t do any of those things. Instead, I linger and wonder if one of the men outside wants to talk because right now I don’t think I can be alone. I don’t think I’m going to be particularly good company, though, and when I see the pity written all over Misha’s face–fuck, it makes me regret opening the door in the first place.
But then he pushes the door open and he’s in my room, his brows knitted with concern. And he’s looking right at me, waiting for me to say something.
I have no idea what I’m supposed to say. We both just stare at each other in silence. He takes a step toward me, and I think he’s going to wrap his arms around me and pull me close to him.
Instead, he reaches out to grab something behind me. I turn around to see him looking at the hot drink sachets next to the coffee machine.
“I know it’s late,“ he says. “But hotels usually have these hot drinks without caffeine and I think you could use one.“
I smile at him. Maybe itwasn’ta bad idea to invite him in. “I might not need one.“
“Then it’s a good thing I do,“ he says, flashing me a warm smile as he sidesteps me. His arm is so close to me I can feel the heat rolling off his skin. He’s wearing a short-sleeved white shirt that reveals just how large his tattoo is. It coils around his bicep all the way up toward his neck, a swirl of blank ink just barely visible above his collar disappearing into his pulse.
He notices me staring and smirks, a dimple appearing on his cheek and making my heart race.
We’re very close to each other, so he could lean down and close the space between us. Hell, I could stand on the tips of my toes and plant a kiss on his lips myself. I kind of want to. It would be so much easier to think about the way he smells and the weight of his body on top of mine instead of, well, any of this.
He seems to sense it, though, taking a step back. “Let’s see how we’re feeling after tea, okay?“ he asks.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. All I do is nod. “You don’t have to be here,“ I say. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I know it’s late.“
“You weren’t bothering me. I would rather be here talking to you than in my room, lying on my bed and looking at the ceiling.“
“Don’t sleep well?“
“Like shit, actually,“ he says softly. “I can only sleep when I’m well past exhaustion, so…“
“Are you coming on to me?“ I ask, smiling at him.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Not right now,“ he says. “Like I said, maybe after a drink.“
“Tea?“
“Tea,“ he says. He busies himself with preparing it and I watch the way his muscular back stretches over the fabric of his shirt while he works. I like watching the back of his thick, tall neck, the way he moves with the grace of a dancer. It’s hard to believe that a man this big would be so light on his feet. He turns to look at me, leaning against the counter as he does. “Might help you sleep.“
“Does it help you?“
He laughs. “No. But I like the ritual. Doing something at night before bed makes it seem less like I’m just going to be lying there pointlessly until I pass out.“
I smile back at him when he meets my gaze, and in a few minutes, we’re sitting around the yellow sofa near the queen bed. We’re both sipping from our cups and I do feel a little better just by sitting there and talking to him.
His arms are extended and he’s flashing me a warm smile as he sips on his tea and we listen to the tv droning on in the background. I turned it on the moment I walked in because I wanted to listen to something other than my own thoughts.
Now I’m not paying attention to it at all.
