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“You have all the charm and grace of a wolf, too,” he chuckles. “The name fits your temperament.”
“Mytemperament?” she snaps incredulously, meeting his icy eyes. “You don’t know the first thing about me!”
She wishes the mask was off his face so she could read more than just the expression in his eyes as they harden. “I know you went into a restricted areamore than onceand got out of your car. So, either you’re the stupidest person alive, which I doubt, or there’s something you’re not telling me.”
She wants out of the car. He still hasn’t made a move to turn it back on, and she’s tempted to shimmy her way out the passenger window.
“You already know my name,” she snaps. “I’m not telling you anything else.”
He regards her for a moment, then turns his attention to her car’s navigation screen.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m taking you home,” he says simply, programming her apartment as the destination.
She must have heard him wrong. “Youare?”
“Yes. Omega apartments are secured almost as well as the panic rooms they cram you into whenever they do those stupid drills, so it’s the perfect spot for us.”
Us.
He’s going to be with her in her apartment. In herspace.
Well, at least Ava made me tidy it up,she thinks sarcastically to herself.
“Why can’t you just let me go?”
“I didn’t know wolves could whine,” he murmurs, starting the car.
“What? Asking for you to let me go is not whining!”
The absolutenerveof this man.
“You already know why I won’t let you, Hazel. It’s a matter of convenience,” he says. “Besides, you probablyshouldhave someone with you anyway, so you don’t run off and act so impulsively again.”
He’s teasing her. He stole her car, is holding her hostage, and has theaudacityto tease her.
“Bastard,” she mutters under her breath, and he huffs out a laugh.
* * *
“How didyou know I visited the restricted area more than once?”
She asks it before she can stop herself, sitting straight up in surprise. They’ve been driving down the quiet, dark streets, and she’s been watching with dread as they near her apartment complex in silence. But his offhanded comment replays in her mind. Yet he’s unphased by her outburst, as if he was waiting for her to recall what he said.
“I smelled you before,” he says simply. “Just you.”
Embarrassment floods her. No one was supposed to know she was there.
“My scent carried?” she asks uncomfortably. He turns a sharp corner and maneuvers them through narrow alleyways, avoiding the major streets.
“It was fresher than the sweater,” he says offhandedly, as if this isn’t the most awkward conversation of her life. “It was you, just stronger and tinged with smoke.”
Her mouth opens and closes several times before she speaks again.
“What sweater?” she asks, dreading the answer.
She remembers the stupid black cardigan that she reluctantly vacuum-sealed and handed over to the government, soaked in her pheromones.
