It was an order, but I didn’t mind; I had broken into his room.
After I lowered it, again his eyes evaluated me. “I would think you a Com if your eyes weren’t glowing.” His own glowing gaze met mine. “You’re masking.”
I nodded once. “As are you.”
“Practice.”
Again, I nodded, unable to say I was doing it for practice because it wouldn’t ring true since I was past the practice stage, the action easy now for me. “Do you mind if I stay awhile?”
He turned his attention to the tent flap at the entrance to his bedroom. “I don’t normally allow people back here.” He started moving forward, and I decided he was some kind of cat Shifter by the way he stalked so fluidly, and probably a high-powered alpha by the way he carried himself. “But, what the hell? If you promise to be quiet you can stay for a while.”
I nodded, eyes cold, stopping their glow. “Thank you.”
He grunted, fluidly sitting on the other end of the couch, his own eyes ceasing to glow as he glanced at me. They captured mine. Although their color was gorgeous, like spring grass, vivid against his complexion, they were empty. Ruthless. He wasn’t a man to be messed with. And he was letting me know by his silent stare.
Which was fine for me since I wasn’t a woman to be messed with, my own gaze just as empty.
I saw he had gloves like I wore as I watched him pick up the still burning blunt and a few sheets of paper I hadn’t even noticed past all the drugs. The gloves were black leather, to grip a weapon better, but cut at mid-finger to be able to fire a gun easily, pretty much like all the fighters at my old camp wore. Kicking his feet up on the other end of the coffee table, he rested back like I was and took a drag off the blunt while reviewing the papers, which were slightly wrinkled. Decided he was going to leave me in peace, I lay my head back and stared at the sparkling ceiling, not feeling much of anything. I fingered my thumb ring under my black glove, and again, I closed my eyes, trying to remember in semi-solitude.
As happened every fucking time, nothing came.
I tried again…and nothing.
Except for chilling anger that vibrated through my veins, threatening to drive me crazy.
Sighing softly, I blinked my eyes open, unsure how long they had been closed for. And blinked again, seeing the blunt in front of my face. He wasn’t watching me, or saying anything, but his arm was extended across the space between us, offering to share while he read his papers. I stared at it, wondering if it would help, temptation gnawing. From the sounds outside, the party was still in full swing, so it appeared I was going to be here for some time unless I wanted to risk going out there and be caught trespassing.
Head tilted, I slowly lifted my hand and took the blunt just as mutely as he had offered it. He took his hand back, flipping his sheets. I rolled it between my fingers, my nostrils already filled with its cloying aroma, the room so filled with hovering smoke it was all I could smell.
Well, hell. At this point, I was willing to try anything, and I had time to kill. I took a drag, inhaling heavily and holding it in as I had seen so many others do.
I instantly started coughing, or hacking, more like.
Pounding on my chest, I quickly glanced at the man, but he was ignoring me, so I turned my watering glare to the blunt. Maybe I had not done it right. The people I saw smoking the stuff never coughed. Rolling it around, I bent to ash it, studying it. It was possible I had taken too much in. Trying again, I took a slower, steadier, drag…and didn’t cough this time as my head fell back on the couch, my limbs instantly feeling a little looser, not so stiff as my shoulders relaxed. I sighed as I blew the smoke out, but I didn’t want to be greedy, so I held it across to him.
This was how the next half-hour passed.
Puff, puff, give.
Both of us silent as we shared the fat blunt.
My insides purred in warmth and languid relief by the time he ground it out. He stood from the couch to lift items from the bar, placing two glasses on the edge of the coffee table and a bottle of whiskey between them before retaking his seat.
As I poured my third glass of whiskey, I decided the guy wasn’t half bad, feeling all kinds of relaxed.
Still studying his papers, reading them repeatedly, he rumbled, “You do silence well.”
I snorted, taking another sip of my drink, my head falling to look in his direction. “And you were doing so well, too.”
He grunted. A glance at me, his eyes assessing. Back to his papers. “You’re stoned.”
Yep, I most definitely was that. “That would be an affirmative.” I eyed my almost empty glass, then filled it again. “Close to drunk, too.” I tipped my head to him. “Thank you, by the way.”
“You’re welcome.” He lit another blunt, eyes on his papers. “You must be new here, since I haven’t seen you before.” He took a drag before passing it to me. “Do you have a name?”