Page 117 of Lady Killer

Our men had been keeping a close eye on the girl, but the killer and their sheep continued to elude us. Regret was not an emotion I was familiar with, but I despised the anguish that the loss of her friend caused her.

She was ours to protect, and we had failed her. I had failed her.

Nixon had called Luz my girlfriend. It felt wrong, but not for the reasons she’d protested.

The word was flimsy, cheap—unworthy of how I felt about her. When I said she was mine, I meant it in every sense.

“I know you’re lurking out there, Alister.”

My name on her lips sounded like a dark prayer, and I was her God.

The door creaked open with a push, and I stepped halfway into the room.

She was seated at the desk I had ordered for her.

I had considered telling her that I had paid off the cost of her degree, taking over her scholarship, but she was more likely to poison me than thank me for the offer. It was safer to keep that between myself and the financial aid office for now and, instead, create an environment where she could continue to succeed academically.

“Something you want?” she said, and if I wasn’t already half fucking hard just from being near her, I would have been now. There was something about her husky voice that still caught me off guard, and I was a man who was rarely unprepared.

“You.”

She snorted. She hadn’t fully forgiven me for Autumn, and the defiant expression on her face made me itch to put her in her place . . . on her knees . . . on the floor . . . on the bed.

She rose, staring at me appraisingly as she reached her arms up and stretched her back out like a cat, twisting her neck from side to side.

She needs a better chair. Order one tomorrow.

“My room,” I said, holding out my hand. I had never invited her into my space.

Until now.

Her eyes widened before she schooled her expression, considering my olive branch. She was wearing her mask more loosely around me these days, even if she didn’t realize it.

“You must be worried you’re never going to see me again after Friday if I’m being invited into your sacred lair,” she finally said, stepping forward to slip her hand into mine.

I jerked her close to me. “Don’t joke about that.”

“Alister, I’ll be—‍”

I placed a finger over her lips. I didn’t want to talk about Friday, about our plans to send her out amongst the wolves. I needed her now.

Half leading, half dragging her down the hall, I brought her up to my room, pausing as I reached for the door, turning to face her. “You’ll stay here tonight.”

Her nose scrunched in confusion. “I already told you I’d stay at the townhouse. I don’t know why you don’t trust me—‍”

“In my room.”

“Oh,” she said, all the fight leaving her voice.

I opened my door and led her in by her hand.

No one would accuse me of being a sentimental man. My bedroom was utilitarian, cold even.

A king-size bed with gray sheets sat against a black headboard. Large windows were shrouded in matching drapes. The furniture was all blackwood, everything minimalistic. The only color in the space came from a painting of Nixon’s above the dressers, but even that was done in shades of gray and muted blues.

Luz’s eyes were drawn to it.

If I were my brother, I would charm her with a passionate explanation of what it represented. Instead, I dragged her over to my bed.

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