Page 10 of Into the Dawn

Vanessa's cheeks pink, and she shakes her head immediately. Too quickly. She hasn't even thought about it. But her scent changes subtly, anxiety and something else threading through it. There is something she wants, and badly.

"If it's too good to be true, it probably is. He'll recognize you dropping me into his hands for the Trojan horse that it is. There has to be something."

Vanessa's brows pinch together as she considers it, coughing nervously. She backs away and turns, busying herself with tidying up, walking around the small living area, turning on lights, and pulling curtains. Her nervous energy sets my beast on edge.

“Let me think…” she mutters, trying desperately to come up with something other than whatever it was that popped into her head.

She's stalling.

I fold my arms over my chest as I stand there and watch her.

She tucks her hair behind her ears and studiously avoids looking at me. She's hiding something, and it's annoying me. This was her plan, and it's my ass on the line. More importantly, it's John's life at stake.

"Vanessa?"

She ignores me, and I blink slowly, trying to calm my rising temper as I take in her small home. It's cold, and not well insulated, but I can tell Vanessa has poured her love into this place. My beast catches hints of her scent worked deep into every surface. This is her den, her sanctuary.

There's a piece of her in every stick of thrifted furniture, every painting hung, every photo of her and her friends, all from her teenage years, that graces the walls. None more recent. As if her life stopped when she rejected our bond.

"It's not much, I'm sorry," she says, hands out and head low, looking slightly ashamed of the sparsely decorated space. "But it's home, and it's all that I've got. Dad doesn't let me go far…"

Which means he's kept her in town, with no job prospects and no friends. No clan connections despite being in the heart of their territory.

My beast growls at the wrongness of it.

"It's fine, Vanessa. It's going to be better than my accommodations tomorrow, anyway." My joke falls flat, and I wish I could shove the words back into my mouth. I grew up dirt poor, scrounging around for food when our parents would abandon us for days and weeks on end. If not for John, we'd have had nothing, so I'm the last person to judge someone for not being wealthy.

But this is new for Vanessa. Her father has money. He's obviously just not sharing it with her, making a point that she's not his favourite child, or even liked. Another thing I can't let myself care about.

Focus on John.

“A playground for the kids?” she suggests hesitantly and I frown.

“No. That’s not for you. You can do better than that.”

Vanessa continues to avoid contact as she bustles around, tidying up.

"They won't come here, so you'll have one night's peace while we figure this out."

She moves to the tiny kitchen, which is really just a row of cupboards against one wall, and flicks on the kettle, the silencebeing filled with the sound of doors opening, mugs being taken out and set on the counter, and the water boiling.

"There has to be something you want for yourself, Vanessa. Not for the community, for you," I say quietly, hoping to coax the information from her. I look around the room, hoping she'll open up if I'm not staring at her, but she scowls, insulted. As if I'm suggesting a new home should be top of her list.

"I didn't mean it like that." I step toward her, about to touch her arm, but freeze with my fingers hovering in the space between us. My beast strains toward her, but I pull back. We can't go down that road again.

"Tell me." I plead. "This could be the difference between us pulling this off, or both of us ending up in serious trouble."

Vanessa stops and leans one hip against the counter, fiddling with the lid of a faded tin canister that sayssugarin bold yellow writing on the side.

She's shaking nervously, and I don't know why. We've known each other since we were kids. Whatever it is can't be that big of a deal. But her scent is shifting, becoming sweeter, more potent.

My beast recognizes it before I do. Arousal.

"Shit," she stammers, as her hand slips off the lid, and she shakes out her fingers. "Ben, this is hard."

She's not talking about the tin, but getting irritated, so I focus on that. I loom over her and pry it from her hands, popping the lid off with ease and then hand it back to her.

"What's so hard about it, Vanessa? Just spit it out. You’re talking to me here."

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