Page 3 of Sleepless Beauties
Lucky them.
Prey tilts his head to the side, a smug smirk cutting over his lips as he looks down on me. His hands slide into his pockets as if he’s cold in the autumn weather but I know he feels nothing.
Not a damn thing.
“Careful, Pretty Human. You wouldn’t want to cross that line.”
My jaw grinds hard as I keep my mouth shut about the one thing I can never tell anyone. Especially his kind.
They’d kill me for it.
Because the humans who know about supernaturals, don’t step over into their world. And they’ve agreed not to come into ours.
My sister and I break this rule once a month. We don’t dare to break the rule often.
I break it more than they’ll ever know but that’s my own little secret for just me to keep.
“I want to see her myself.”
A car slows with squealing brakes as it travels down Crimson Road. Just as it nears the city line, the car comes to a full stop. The driver shakes his head. It takes him a minute to reevaluate whatever it is the magic shows him. A dead end? More endless road construction?
Whatever it is, he reverses because of it. He turns his little white sedan right around and will more than likely forget he ever drove down this cursed lane.
I wish I had.
Honestly, it would have been easier to believe Kyra had died that night on our eighteenth birthday. It was far easier than learning the twisted truth.
“I want to see her!” I state with an edge biting my tone.
I knew something would happen. I knew the moment she snuck directly into my apartment to confess her worst fears.
Those fears are clearly alive and well now.
“Did it ever occur to you that she doesn’t return that sweet sentiment? Perhaps she has grown tired of keeping the stale relationship with her weak little sister alive.” Everything he says is so condescending and cruel. It pains me not to throat punch him, just to cut into that obnoxiously proper tone of his a little.
I storm forward and maybe I will punch him. Maybe I’ll tackle his scrawny ass to the ground and give him a kick for every single spiteful thing he’s ever said to me over the last two years.
But I only make it one step.
My sneakers hit the red line and before I can lunge at him, he surprises me.
His shoulder slams into my stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I tense for the impact of the sidewalk to crash against my back.
But the collision never comes.
With a fluid movement, he flings my entire body over his shoulder and strides down the Chicago sidewalk in broad daylight. It’s a languid walk of complete casualness as I bring my knee to his chest over and over again, my nails claw into his back with every step he takes. Still, he just carries on as if there isn’t a hundred and thirty pound rabid cat of a woman hissing obscenities right to his very taut ass. God, why is his ass the only thing I can see right now? His slim jeans hang just a little, and I notice that his underwear is black as well, just as I predicted. And his shirt keeps riding up. Are those dimples? He has back dimples?
Stop making my heart stupid!
“Put me down!”
A sparking flick of sound strikes, then I hear him inhale deeply.
Is… is he having a smoke right now?
“No can do, Vega.”
The scent of nicotine hits my lungs as he flicks his ashes right into my face.
