Beast: Learning to Breathe (Devil's Blaze MC #5)

Charlie is giving me funny looks. I know it can’t be my imagination. I feel like I have a giant sticker across my forehead that reads: “I kissed a boy, and I think I liked it.” It’s crazy. There’s no way she could know. Her look probably has more to do with the fact that I have bags the size of suitcases under my eyes because I didn’t sleep at all last night. I tossed and turned thinking about Michael, thinking about him kissing me, wondering if he liked it, wondering why I liked it so much, wishing he wouldn’t have stopped, glad that he did…the list kept going.

Charlie might also be giving me those looks because I’m clumsy as can be today. I’ve broke two plates, I’ve dropped silverware, and I accidentally dropped a piece of pie in old man Gilbert’s lap. Luckily, he just laughed about it. I might be getting those looks from her because every time the bell rings to signal the door is being opened, I jerk around to see who is walking in. I’m alternating between dreading and wishing Michael would come in. That’s why when it rings and I look up to see him walk in, I freeze. Which might have been okay. It might have totally gone unnoticed, if not for the fact that even though my body locked up and I couldn’t seem to move, I was refilling a glass for poor Mr. Gilbert—a glass of very cold ice water.

“Tarnation, Hayden! What’s going on with you today!” Mr. Gilbert yells, jumping up just as three blocks of ice drop from the pitcher onto his lap. Shit.

“Oh no. Mr. Gilbert, I’m so sorry. Let me get some towels!” I run to the counter, my face so hot that I know I have to be glowing in the dark. I can see Michael from the corner of my eye as he walks past me and goes to sit down in a corner booth. “I really am sorry, Mr. Gilbert. I’ll pay for your lunch. I’m such a klutz today. Please, forgive me.”

“Girl, you froze my damn balls!” he yells loudly, which does nothing to keep me from being further embarrassed.

“My girl’s good at that, aren’t you, Hayden?” A male voice says at the door.

A minute ago, I could feel the heat on my face. A minute ago, my biggest problem was getting Mr. Gilbert to calm down and figure out what to say to Michael. Now, my problems are much bigger. Any embarrassment I feel, any heat from a blush on my face is gone now. In its place is white, because all color has drained from me, and in the place of the heat is a cold dread that seeps into my system and causes my body to break out in a sweat. I slowly, agonizingly slow, lift my head to see Blade standing in front of me. He’s alone, though beyond him I see at least three of his men.

I jerk my head back to the monster at the door. I don’t want to see if I know the men with him. Chances are I do. Chances are those memories will do nothing to help me beat down the panic I’m feeling inside right now. And I’m definitely feeling the panic.

Blade hasn’t changed in the months since I’ve seen him. I look at him now and wonder how I ever could have thought he was good looking. He’s tall. Though not as tall as Michael. I’d say around 6’4” or so. He looks a lot like Pastor Sturgill. His sandy-blonde hair is longer though, and falls to his shoulders. It has a natural wave to it, and there’s one curl that no matter what he does refuses to go back with the rest of his hair. It falls over his forehead and gets in his eye. I used to think that was sweet. I find nothing about Blade sweet now.

I used to love the blue of his eyes. Now the blue seems lifeless, dull. There’s nothing warm in them. I know, because I’ve seen the demon that lurks under the skin of this man. He’s got a tattoo of a snake that is coiled around his neck. That’s new. He didn’t have that before. Too bad, if he had that, I wouldn’t have been attracted to him at all. I can’t help but think how fitting it is on him now. He’s wearing his club-cut, with a plain black t-shirt underneath. His arms are covered in ink. I used to find that sexy. Michael has tattoos, but his are mostly military, they don’t seem…sinister. Blade’s entire body is covered in ink, but they don’t interest me anymore. They make my skin crawl.

“Your kind ain’t welcome here,” Charlie growls.

“Hush, old woman. I’m here to see my woman. Hayden, you haven’t spoke to me. Is that any way to greet your man?” he asks, and his words punch me as hard as his hand once slapped me.

I can feel the panic edge up. I fight to beat it down. I don’t want to give into it. I did the other day when Michael’s friends all crowded in my kitchen. The men were standing by the doors and they were wearing their club gear. Memories from the past hit me all at once, and I couldn’t fight it down. I will be stronger than that today. I was strong last night. I kissed Michael. That has to mean something. Right? I tighten my hand into a fist, afraid I’m not going to be able to pull this off, and that’s when I feel Michael come to stand beside me. Instantly, I feel calmer. The fear is still there, but I can manage. I can manage.

“I’m not your woman. Or did you forget how that ended? Because I haven’t. I have scars to prove it,” I tell him, and though my voice is not as loud as I would have liked, I congratulate myself because it’s not trembling. I don’t sound weak.

“That’s what happens when you’re a lying bitch. But you were also keeping secrets from me weren’t you, Hayden?”

“I wasn’t the only one,” I remind him, and that’s when the demon comes close to the surface. I see him, just for a second. My body tightens as I wait for him to strike out. I can feel that fear wash through me again, but with one touch it’s gone. I look down at my hand which is held in a tight fist. Michael is carefully unlocking my fingers. One by one he peels them back, and I stop and watch him, my hand going slack in his. Once he’s uncoiled my fingers and brushed his thumb over the indentions my nails made when they bit into my skin, he takes his hand in mine. Just like that. Michael holds my hand. In front of everyone…proudly.

“Beast. They told me you were in these parts.”

“I told your boys the other day to give you a message. I wasn’t trying to hide,” Michael says. I can feel the tension radiating through his hand, but his words seem laid back. He seems and sounds perfectly at ease. The only way I know for sure that’s a lie is the way the muscles in his hand are stiff and pulsing against my skin.

I take my thumb and brush against the large scar that runs from the knuckle on up to his wrist. I rake the pad of my thumb back and forth. I can’t say if it is to calm me or Michael, but it seems to work for both.

“They told me. Did you get my message?” he asks, and I look at Michael in surprise. Had he been talking with Blade’s men again? I hadn’t seen them around the house. I don’t want them around the house.