Page 78 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
“You’re pretty sure she doesn’t want to see me, or you’re sure?”
Asher pursed his lips. “She didn’t say those exact words, but it was implied.”
There was another frigid pause as the two of them stared at one another in a jaw-clenching stalemate. Then Christian huffed out a hard breath, ran a hand through his hair and looked at the floor. He briefly closed his eyes, gathering his frayed patience and the ragged edges of his anger with a surprisingly difficult exertion of will, then looked back up at Asher, meeting him eye to eye. When he spoke, his voice came very low.
“You’re her friend; I respect that. I respect your loyalty. But I have to see her. I have to. You can help me or not, but I’ll find out where she is one way or another. Believe me when I say it’s in her best interests if I find her sooner rather than later.”
Asher remained stone-faced. Christian realized this could go on all night, so he tried another tactic.
“And…I need to apologize to her.”
Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, Asher’s brows lifted.
Christian bit the inside of his cheek—hard—to hold back the snarl that wanted to rip from his throat. He wasn’t used to being in the position of explaining himself. And he did not like it.
“You heard me. Don’t make me say it again.”
Asher cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at him. He examined his face for long, silent moments, then said, “All right. I actually believe you, miracle of all miracles. So I’ll tell you what—I’ll give her a call and ask her what she thinks. But if she doesn’t want to see you, you can forget about it.”
Blood spread in a heated wave over Christian’s face. “You have her new number?”
Asher had the audacity to smirk. “Oh, did she not give that to you? Ouch.” Then he instructed curtly, “Stay here,” and shut the door in Christian’s face.
Christian exhaled, uncurled his fists and braced his arms against either side of the doorframe. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, opened his ears, and let the w
orld and its cacophony rise over him like a wave.
Traffic, from miles around. Dogs barking. Voices. Wind slipping through leaves. Birds rustling in the hollows of tree branches and the hum of insects and the low, throbbing drone of a thousand different appliances. The electrical buzzing of the streetlamps. Breathing. Heartbeats. The slow, grinding pulse of the earth.
And then the musical tones of the push buttons on a phone from inside Asher’s apartment. Christian focused on that and let all the other sounds fade to background noise.
“Em, Christian showed up at my apartment looking for you.”
A long, silent pause. Her voice came fainter than Asher’s, but still clear. “What did he want?”
“I’ll give you one guess,” said Asher with quiet sarcasm.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him you didn’t want to see him.”
Another long pause and Christian strained his ears so hard he thought something inside his head might burst. His heart began to pound in his chest.
In a voice so soft and aching it nearly broke him in two, Ember asked softly, “How did he seem? Is he okay? I’ve been worried about him.”
He let out a soft, disbelieving groan. She was worried about him. He’d thrown her out of his bed and out of his house after she’d confessed the worst thing she’d ever done, and she was worried about him.
His hands curled around the wood doorframe so hard it began to splinter.
“He seems like he always seems—pretty and pissed off. What do you want me to tell him?”
At the top of his lungs, Christian shouted through the door, “I need to see you, Ember!”
“Oh my God,” said Ember into the phone. “Is that him? He’s there now?”
“Well it’s not the fucking Easter bunny, sweetheart. Tell me what you want me to tell him before he breaks down my door.”
“Just tell him…tell him I said whatever goes on four legs will always be a friend”—her voice cracked over “friend”—“and we just should leave it at that.”
