“Does intelligent mean slow, Abram? Because I don’t think the next poor sap who looks like me has that kind of time to waste.” My hand was still his to hold. My heart was still his to break. But I couldn’t fold on this.
“I know you want to save them, and that’s admirable. But you have no idea what we’re up against. I was dealing with Conduits while your grandfather was still in diapers. They’re dangerous creatures, and I doubt you have the foresight to fully understand that.”
My eyes narrowed accusingly. “So I don’t understand anything?” I wrestled my hand from his. “I’m just some child then?”
He sighed, his expression forlorn. “That’s not what I meant.”
“That’s exactly what you meant,” I answered, grinding my teeth together. “You think that because you’re older than sand, you have some kind of immaculate perspective on this.”
“I think my situation affords me a unique advantage, and if you weren’t so close to the situation, I’m sure you would agree.”
“You’re sure?” I asked indignantly. “And I suppose you’re sure because I’m so infantile and predictable.”
His eyebrows shot up quizzically, which was just what I was going for, and he blew out a thin stream of breath. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Acting like what? Childish? Well, I suppose I’m acting this way because that’s how you see me. Like a child!”
I wasn’t, of course. I knew better than that and, even if I didn’t, I wasn’t the type to go off on some poor guy just because he said the wrong thing. That was way too ‘How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days’ for my taste.
I had slipped into mega-bitch mode only to create a distraction. And I was trying to create a distraction because I didn’t want Abram, with his heightened beast senses, to realize that I was—at this very moment—fumbling for the nail file in my purse.
And he wouldn’t like what I was about to do with it.
“Why on Earth would you think that?” he asked, raking his hand through his hair.
Turned out that, magical or not, all guys fell apart into confused messes when the girls they liked got emotional.
“Because it’s the truth!” I yelled way too loudly. “You know it’s the truth! And what about my clothes? I know you don’t like the way I dress!”
“I—What?” Poor Abram. He was as lost as a socialite at a NASCAR race.
“You know you do! All you ever do is judge me!”
“Charisse, I—I don’t understand where this is all coming from. I just—”
I pulled the file out quickly, and ran it across my palm, breaking the skin.
“Goddamn it!” Abram yelled, rushing toward me. He pulled my palm toward him, sandwiching it between his and effectively stopping any of my blood from hitting the ground. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What I have to,” I said, dropping the charade of the easily offended psycho girlfriend. “I have to do this. I have to save those girls.”
“What about this girl?” he asked, eyes wide, motioning toward me. “What about my girl?”
A touch of guilt pinged at the back of my mind. Dalton had called me his girl not two days ago. And he meant it.
I pushed that aside and let myself drown in the other, more pleasurable sensations that Abram’s proclamation brought about.
I was his, something that belonged to him. He was saving me. He was prioritizing me. He was taking me.
And I wanted nothing more in that moment than to be taken. My inner feminist was appalled by my reaction, but I didn’t care. All I wanted in that moment was his hands on my body, his mouth on my lips.
Too bad he wasn’t done scolding me.
“You can’t be this foolish, Charisse,” he said sternly. “Not when so much is at stake.”
He looked at me, his dark eyes bearing clear down into my soul. And I realized that the thing at stake—the thing he was putting so much emphasis on protecting—was me.
“I just wanted to—”
“I know,” he said, leaning in close and shutting me up with his nearness. “But the only way to keep everyone safe is to keep our wits about us.”
He opened his hands, revealing that he had soaked up most of my blood with his palm. It shimmered, gold and sparkling against his tan skin.
“My God …” I murmured. “I’ve cut myself before. It never—”
“It wouldn’t, not unless your blood came in contact with someone of a supernatural persuasion.” It was then I noticed just how hard Abram was trying to keep his hand from shaking. “Just one drop of your blood,” he said, biting his lip. “You have no idea how much—”
“Oh God, are you in pain? Is this hurting you?” I asked, pulling my hand away. “Am I hurting you?”
“Not you,” he answered, closing his eyes. “The magic. I’m an abomination—all beast, no magic, remember? The magic doesn’t take to me very well.”
“Well, wipe it off!” I yelled, reaching for him.
“No!” He pulled his hand away. “It’s a beacon. Conduits can track it. If this touches anything, it’ll send the person after you right to us.”
“That was the point,” I said.
He glowered at me, but his scowl soon turned to a wince.