Page 47 of A Malicious Menagerie
“Anna,” Chase calls behind me. But I don’t stop, and I don’t look back. “Anna,” he says again, and then his hand is on my upper arm, bringing me to a gentle halt. Still, I can’t bring myself to look at him. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice so kind that it makes tears spring to my eyes. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” I lie, hastily dashing away those damning tears. “I obviously just thought there was something there that wasn’t. It’s okay, I’ll get over it.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and still, I refuse to meet his eyes, my gaze stuck resolutely on one sculpted collarbone. It’s so unfair that even his stupid collarbones are beautiful.
Finally, his grip on my arm tightens, and he tugs me closer to him. I go with a squeak, throwing my other hand out to catch myself and landing with my palm pressed flat to his firm, scalding chest.
He ducks his chin, and I can feel his breath against my ear as he rumbles, “Do you really think I didn’t want to kiss you?”
“Well… yes?” I reply breathlessly.
“Of course I wanted to kiss you,” he growls, sounding exasperated. My heart kicks so hard at his words that he can probably feel it, close as we’re pressed together. “I still want to kiss you. I never want to stop kissing you.”
“Then why…?”
He huffs a sigh. “I just don’t want you to ever wonder if I only kissed you to try to manipulate you into helping me get out of here.”
Well, now I’m feeling incredibly stupid and naive, because that thought never crossed my mind. Chase is always just so straightforward, never one to mince words. It’s not that I think he couldn’t pull off that kind of con, I just never would have pictured him doing it. “Well, are you?” I ask bluntly. “Trying to manipulate me?”
A low growl rumbles through his chest, making my fingertips buzz where they’re pressed to his taut skin. “No. I would never.”
“Well, then.” I tap his chest. “It’s a non-issue.”
“You shouldn’t just believe me, Anna,” he grumps, leaning away so he can peer down into my eyes, amber on gray. “You need to protect yourself.”
“I don’t need to protect myself from you,” I reply firmly, knowing deep in the pit of my soul that it’s true.
“You don’t know that,” he retorts.
“But I do.”
He’s quiet for a moment, measuring my sincerity, before his expressionsoftens. He lets go of my arm to bring both palms up to cup my face, his calloused fingertips brushing my jaw like I’m made of porcelain. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to protect yourself from me. I’d lie belly up at your feet before I’d ever hurt you. But regardless of that, I have nothing to offer you, Anna. I’m stuck here, far from home, at the mercy of a sadistic rich man who thinks I’m a puppet that will do whatever he likes if he pulls my strings just right. And the worst part is, he’s right.”
“You have plenty to offer,” I argue. “You listen, really listen, and never make me feel like my worries are insignificant. You make me laugh, even in the middle of this pretty prison, even when I feel like this place is chipping away pieces of my soul each day. And when I’m with you, I feel safe.”
“Youaresafe,” he growls, and this time, it’s not a sweet, contented rumble but something dark and menacing. “I’d kill anyone who tried to hurt you.”
“I wouldn’t ask you tokillfor me,” I gasp, the word ‘kill’ coming out with a squeak.
“You wouldn’t have to. I’d do it anyway.”
“Don’t,” I command firmly. “I mean it. Promise me you won’t hurt anyone for me.”
He scowls. “I can’t make that promise. Iwon’t.Not even for you.”
I snatch my hands away like he’s shocked me and pull back. He lets me go, his hands slipping from my face reluctantly, his expression somber but unrelenting.
And here, this moment, right now, is the difference between being human and being a werewolf. There’s something in his eyes, a feral glint, that reminds me of the predator that lurks under his flirting and gentle humor. A shark below still waters. Still, when my heart picks up like the dash of a fleeing jackalope’s feet, it isn’t from fear.
When was the last time anyone wanted to protect me? Nan would love to, sure, but our relationship has transitioned over the past few years untilI’mthe one protectingher. My mother was kind and patient and lovely, but losing Dad in such a traumatic way broke something inside her. After that day, she always reminded me of a porcelain doll—beautiful, brittle, and hollow at her core. And Adam, my only real boyfriend, didn’t last long after I had to dropout of college to look after Nan. We hadn’t been together long, and while he was nice enough, he was focused on normal things like classes and parties and planning for a career. I honestly think he was relieved when I told him I had to focus on Nan and felt it would be best if we broke up.
So to have all of this man’s—thiswerewolf’s—intensity fixed on me is jarring and, in all honesty, exhilarating. Heady. And more than a little arousing. What that says about me, I don’t care to know. But if I can’t be honest with myself, who can I be honest with?
“I’ll try not to put myself in a position where you have to hurt anyone, then,” I finally respond, my words solemn.
Chase grimaces. He takes a step closer like he can’t help himself, like there’s some gravitational force continuously drawing him into me, and I understand because I feel it, too. “I hate to break it to you,” he murmurs, “but you being here at allisthat kind of position.”
He means being here in the menagerie. And I’ve known that for a while, have felt myself teetering precariously on the razor’s edge of danger for weeks now. With every new and horrible thing I learn about this place and its egotistical master, it becomes more and more clear that I’m not likely to escape this place unscathed.
