Page 5 of Fanged Secrets
Before Amara could pry open the lid I was at her shoulder, slamming a hand down on the trunk. My sudden presence startled the small woman and she leaped away like she’d been scalded. I caught a flash of genuine fear in those big hazel eyes of hers and felt a pang of guilt at startling her, but she shouldn’t have been snooping around in the first place.
I probably should have hidden those weapons away somewhere safebeforewelcoming the daughter of my enemy into my house, but I had been far too preoccupied with the fact that I’d be marrying the woman to think about what would happen once she was living in my home.
Considering Amara believed that me, Jordan, and the rest of the Leyore coven were dangerous criminals, weapons lying around the apartment would make sense in her eyes. Even so, I wasn’t too comfortable sharing a space with someone who may or may not put a knife in my back and would much prefer to keep her away from the deadly, vampire-killing contents of that trunk.
My guilt faded quickly when Amara recovered from her shock and directed a furious glare in my direction. Her hands moved quickly through gestures I couldn’t possibly understand and I shook my head in annoyance, securing the latch on the trunk.
“There are things in there you’re better off not seeing,” I muttered, and repeated myself loudly, sounding out the words when Amara tapped her lips in annoyance.
That only irritated her further and her fingers moved wildly as she performed her silent tantrum. Her face flushed in frustration and I half-expected her to stamp her foot.
“Stop that,” I snapped. “I don’t understand you! And you have no right to go through my stuff.”
Amara’s fingers stilled at my outburst before her hands balled into fists. She looked around desperately, searching for some way to communicate. Despite my patience wearing thin, I sympathized with her struggle. Stomping over to the bookshelf I tore a piece of paper from a worn notebook and grabbed a pen, thrusting them into Amara’s hands.
“Here, write it down.” My tone was curt, but she wouldn’t know that.
Amara took the pen, retreating to the coffee table to scribble furiously on the torn paper. She kneeled on the carpet, feet tucked neatly beneath her, and wrinkled her nose slightly as she concentrated. For a few moments there was only the scraping of pen on paper and Amara’s short breaths punctuating the silence.
When she was done, she handed the paper over to me and I hastily scanned the message. Her handwriting was neat and careful, looping letters that put my illegible scrawl to shame. After reading the note in full I couldn’t help a short, sharp laugh.
“That’s what you’re so mad about?”
The Leyore’s criminal cover story must have been convincing considering the contents of Amara’s note. She had jotted down a short list of “drug dealer things” she’d prefer I keep out of the apartment – “no narcotics in the house” was circled twice. So that’s what she thought was in the trunk.
The notion of Amara thinking I was a drug dealer was laughable, but it provided the perfect cover. And the burning anger in her eyes, her full attention... It was intoxicating. Partially to keep my cover and partially for the thrill of it, I leaned into the misunderstanding.
“You’re in no position to be making demands,” I said flippantly, dropping the note on the coffee table. “I have clients, connections, and a reputation to keep. This isn't a hobby, Amara. It's my livelihood.”
Amara’s face hardened, her eyes narrowing as she got to her feet. The height her dainty kitten heels afforded her was nothing compared to my boots and she had to crane her neck to look up at me. At such proximity, I could see her pulse fluttering at her throat.
Upping the ante, I edged closer, holding her furious gaze. “But I'll tell you what – I'll keep my dealings away from home. You won't see anything. But you can't get in the way of my business. Do we understand each other?”
Amara’s eyes blazed with defiance. Whatever her reasons, this was something she felt strongly about. Strong enough to swallow her fear and stand up to me. She swiped at the discarded note, holding it to my face and jabbing a finger at the circled letters –no narcotics in the house. The “or else” went unspoken but her eyes said it all.
“Fine, I won’t keep anything sketchy in the apartment.” I closed my fingers around her wrist, forcing her to lower the note, and leaned in. “But don’t get used to making demands. You don't know who you're dealing with. I suggest you do your best to stay out of my way."
Amara scowled in response, but she didn’t pull away. Face to face, close enough for her breath to ghost lightly over my cheek, there was a brief moment of stillness between us. With her face inches from mine, that strange prickle of electricity shivered up my spine again. It was all I could do to keep a stern, formidable exterior. Internally something was unraveling, spurred on by the contact, the heat radiating from her body, her thrumming heart pumping hot blood through her veins… her parted lips so close to my own.
Amara exuded animosity but still she drew nearer, aligning her body with mine. My fangs ached to emerge and I tightened my grip on her wrist, squeezing just enough to make my strength known. Her pulse was fast under my thumb and her face flushed with more than just anger.
The tension was palpable, almost suffocating. Whatever game she was playing, she played it well. My eyes flickered to her lips before I could think better of it, and Amara’s pupils widened when she caught the movement.
I’m not sure what line I would have crossed if Amara hadn’t pulled away abruptly, breaking the spell. The sudden movement left me feeling off-balance, both physically and mentally. The vacancy she left behind felt cavernous. I sucked in a sharp breath and arranged my features into a smooth, indolent mask once more.
The air between us was still charged, but the moment had passed.
Amara recovered quickly, eyeing me with a mix of suspicion and something else I couldn’t quite place. Tossing her head to shake loose caramel strands from her eyes, she extended her hand toward me, the implications clear.
I took her hand, shaking it firmly, feeling the last remnants of the electric connection still buzzing between us. "We have a deal then.” I fought to keep my voice low and controlled, my face impassive.
With a quick nod in confirmation, Amara turned on her heel and walked away. She scooped up her discarded cup of coffee, now cold, and perched on the edge of the sofa. She took a small sip, watching me intently, her eyes never leaving my face.
I leaned back against the trunk, languidly crossing my arms, but my mind raced with the implications of what had just happened. The game we had begun was far from over, and the stakes were higher than ever.
The silence stretched on and on.
Chapter 4
