Fair enough. And he’s right on all accounts. The adjective had sounded cheap at best, even as she’d spoken.
Contemplating a better—and safer—excuse gets Love nowhere. Thus, she opts for blatant rejection. “You haven’t earned an answer to why I can see you. But perhaps I shall tell you in the afterlife, provided we end up in the same fiery place, which is unlikely.”
His mouth twitches, withholding sudden mirth. “You’re assuming I won’t follow you into Hell.”
“You’re assuming I’m the one who’ll end up there. What if I told you I’m a perfect angel?”
“Or a troublemaker. You know, if you had a tail, I would yank on it.”
“If I had a tail, I would also have claws.”
That masculine smirk widens. They remain with their palms floating against one another. Andrew of the pewter-gray eyes stares at their hands, his face brimming with fascination.
“And just how long were you following me?” he inquires.
Ah. Despite her resistance to his previous inquiry, other certain truths will get this man to trust her. Therefore, Love wags the book once more. “Long enough to discover that you pen narratives.” Apparently, her mouth has a will of its own. “Thank you for the note.”
A purple bruise, courtesy of Griffin, puddles across Andrew’s jaw. “What about the question I wrote? Who are you?”
The glossy darkness surrounds them, snow collects on their shoulders, and the far-from-innocent inquiry hangs by a thread in the air.
Do not tell him.
Yet around this mortal, her tongue has the tendency to misbehave. Pulling her hand from his, she tucks the book in her pocket, offers a fiendish bow, and flashes a devious grin. “My name is Love.”
Andrew’s lips tip sideways. “Is that so?”
“You have an objection to that?”
“I don’t have a problem with beautiful things.” His gaze fastens onto hers. “Tell me your story.”
Love comes to her senses and retreats a step. “This is dangerous. I cannot stay here.”
“Dangerous for who?” The human moves after her, his voice sharpening. “Is someone after you?”
She’s confused by his instinct to think of her safety first. “I’m not the problem. It’s a risk foryou. Pretend you never saw me.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I should never have preyed on you to begin with.”
“Preyed? As in, I was your next meal?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I wanted to toy with you, not eat you.”
Now that he’s confirmed her protection isn’t at stake, Andrew’s irises kindle like torches. His gaze cuts a path down her body, as if she has offered herself for lunch. Or rather, as if he’s contemplating allowing Love to sink her teeth into him. The effect makes her canines ache.
That’s not the half of it. Tingles climb up her thighs and probe the slit of her cunt. Stunned, Love shuffles in place, desperate to rid herself of the intrusion.
Indeed. The reference to eating had been unwise.
Andrew drags his tongue across his teeth. “Now that we’ve eliminated cannibalism as a factor, enlighten me. If you’re so toxic to my wellbeing, what are you?”
“Nothing.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Nowhere.”