Page 19 of Property of Mako
Surely, I heard him wrong.
He stood on the front porch of my small house, arms crossed, silver eyes burning into me like headlights through fog. If headlights could be on fire.
I stepped back for him to come in.
“Don’t!” he shouted as soon as I opened my mouth.
“You can come in, you know,” I begrudgingly offered despite his outburst.
“Goddamn it,” he sputtered. “You never should’ve done that,” he said through clenched teeth as he brushed past me and prowled into my home like the sleek jungle cat he reminded me of.
Even with the black T-shirt stretched across his chest and the dust of whatever battle he’d been in lately still clinging to his boots, he didn’t look out of place in my kitchen. That annoyed me more than it should have.
“I’m not going to your clubhouse,” I insisted, arms akimbo as I glared at him. “I don’t know you or your friends, and I have horses that rely on me.”
“It’s not a request, Lyra.”
“Then maybe don’t ask. Also, I don’t like that you know my name and I don’t know yours.”
The silence stretched between us like a fragile fuse, ready to spark at any moment. It matched well with the crackle in the air that seemed to make my hairs stand on end. Neither of us had spoken of what transpired on my darkened porch the last time he was here.
He finally looked away, jaw flexing. “Fine. Then I’m staying here.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He moved past me like a shadow before he plopped his muscular ass in one of my kitchen chairs and settled in like he was taking root. His thumbs flew as he tapped out something on his phone, then tucked it into the inner pocket of his leather vest. Then he crossed his arms and gave me a hard stare. “You were just attacked in an alley. Your sister is missing. And there’s a black-market vampire ring auctioning off legacy-blood humans—which I highly doubt you have any idea what that means. You really think I’m going to leave you here alone with nothing but a crowbar and horses to watch over you?”
“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” I snapped. I’d been on my own for a long time. Raising my sister and taking care of my rescue horses didn’t leave much time or energy for dating. It had been forever since I answered to someone else, and I didn’t plan to start any time soon. Fuck him and his high-and-mighty attitude.
“No,” he quietly replied, “but I do get to keep you alive—or, this time, die trying.”
This time?
I wasn’t sure what unnerved me more—that he meant it… or that it actually made me feel safer.
Three times I tried to convince him that I was safe and that he didn’t need to stay. Each time, he ignored me or blinked at me as if he was humoring a young child. I wanted to hit him over the head with the coffee pot I was washing.
We moved around each other in the kitchen like orbiting stars, both pretending not to notice the pull. At least I did.
I made coffee. He drank what I assumed was blood from a flask.
The tension grew, thick enough to cut with a blade.
He stood behind me at one point, close—too close. Still, the heat of him rolled over my skin like smoke, and when I turned, I nearly crashed into his chest.
“Sorry,” I muttered, dodging around him to grab the creamer from the fridge.
His hand caught my wrist gently. “You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he murmured.
“I’m not,” I insisted defiantly.
“Good.” He released me slowly, fingers lingering. “Because I’m running out of ways to keep my distance.”
My heart hammered at his softly spoken words. Again, I couldn’t have heard him correctly. “What?” I gasped.
“Nothing,” he replied after clearing his throat.
Call me a coward, but I chose not to push the subject.
