“Let’s go outside and try it, shall we?” he offered, and I stood, only for Rhys to grab my arm, pulling me back into my chair.
“Let’s not set her on fire, okay?” he grunted, never pulling his eyes from me.
“She’s passingly pretty. However, she lacks the silver coloring of the Silversmiths that made them beautiful,” another brother stated, but which one I didn’t know because I’d given up caring or paying attention to names. “Remington. What a boyish name. Maybe they named her such because of her rust coloring?” he continued.
“I don’t know. I find it fitting for a mythical gunsmith to name her daughters after those with less ability than she has,” Nyota said, and almost complimented my mother.
“You haven’t touched your food,” Rhys pointed out, and I turned to look at him blankly.
“Between being thrown against a wall and having your family try to murder me repeatedly, I seem to have lost my appetite. One of your brothers wants to set me on fire. Another thinks I’m passingly pretty and have a horrid name. The others are wondering how to fuck me before you get to me and breed my womb because you all think it holds some kind of mythical tether to my silver talent. You’re parading me around like I’m some fucking trophy, and you think I’d still have an appetite. Why?” I asked pointedly, glaring at him. “Oh, let’s not forget that I almost let you into my vagina tonight, too. Not that it will be happening now. I’d rather fuck the sword I made you than let you touch me again tonight. So, there’s that.”
Cole choked on his liquor as the others watched Rhys to see what he would do. My fingers tapped the table, something I knew bothered him. I waited for Rhys to do something, anything other than stare at me with his pretty stupid eyes.
“Eat,” he demanded coldly.
I reached for my whiskey, downing it as the server moved closer. Rhys shook his head at the server who veered away from the glass he’d been about to refill. He pushed my plate closer, and I shoved it away. He continued until I lifted it, tossing it over my head to smirk as it shattered against the wall.
“You’re acting childish, Remington,” he pointed out.
“And you’re a dick who enjoys treating me like some fucking pet he trapped,” I muttered.
“Go to the bedroom, Remington,” he growled, and I stood without warning, pushing the chair out before he could. For all his faults, he was well-mannered.
I felt his eyes following me as I silently made my way up the stairs. I didn’t understand why they forced me to endure their company when it was clear they wanted me owned or dead. I entered the room I’d first been in, staring at the new bed, replacing the one I’d broken. Glaring, I peered up at the ceiling and walls they’d repaired in the last few hours.
Climbing onto the bed, I shed the dress, wincing at the wound on my shoulder, and sat up. I walked into Rhys’s bedroom, grabbing the curling iron out of my bag. Slipping into the bathroom in my room to plug it in, I tapped my fingers on the counter, leaning against it while I waited for it to heat up. After a few minutes, I turned to look at the wound on my shoulder in the mirror, holding the curling iron against the cut flesh until it sizzled.
I turned, staring at Rhys, who watched me silently through narrowing eyes. Ignoring him, I pulled the iron away from my shoulder, peering into the mirror at the healed flesh. Reaching over the sink, I unplugged the iron and placed it where it wouldn’t melt or burn anything.
Grabbing my toothbrush, I applied the paste and set to scrubbing his taste out of my mouth while he watched. His stare slid over my naked frame, slowly lifting back up to my shoulder with curiosity.
“Heat heals you,” he pointed out, and I rolled my eyes at his brilliant deduction. “You’re fireproof, aren’t you?” he asked, and when I didn’t answer him, he slipped in behind me, watching me in the mirror. “That’s what you meant when you said he could try, but it wouldn’t end up as he wanted. Isn’t it?”
“Mmm,” I said around my toothbrush. Bending over, I spit out the toothpaste before grabbing the mouthwash. My eyes caught his in the mirror, reminding me of earlier when he’d done devilish things to me. He moved quickly, planting his hands to box me in against the counter. I continued staring at him as those memories flashed in my mind. “Stop it.”
“Stop what, Remi? Stop touching you? Stop learning you?” He studied me; his smile curving his mouth while his eyes sparkled with dark amusement burning within them. “You’re going to need to elaborate on what you want me to stop doing.”
“Stop using your magic on me, Rhys Van Helsing.”
“I can’t make you want me. If that is what you think I am doing, you’re mistaken. I can only enhance your pleasure. I can’t make you want those dirty thoughts playing out in that pretty head of yours. That’s all you,” he uttered huskily.
“Do you have bleach?” I asked softly, turning to run my hands up his chest slowly, watching the smile deepening on his lips, wrapping his arms around my waist. He pressed his erection against my stomach, proving I wasn’t the only one remembering earlier.
“Now, why would you need bleach?” he asked, lowering his mouth against mine.
“To erase every image of you from my head,” I smirked against his mouth, patting his chest. “Good night, Rhys,” I snorted, ducking out from beneath his arms. I walked toward the bed, only to be picked up and carried into his room. “I am not sleeping with you!”
“You’re sleeping in my bed, woman. It isn’t up for negotiation at this time. When my bastard brothers leave, you can ask again. I have no intention of sleeping in this room just to keep you safe from them, not when you can sleep in my bed.”
“You’ve done a smashing job of keeping me safe so far, asshole,” I grumbled, and then cried out as he dumped me onto the bed.
“My job is to protect your life, Remington. You’re alive, aren’t you?” he muttered, pulling off the suit coat, and then slowly unbuttoning his shirt. I watched him silently, hating that his body made my eyes need to take inventory of each contoured line in detail. “How did you figure out that you were fireproof?”
“How long have you run E.V.I.E.?”
“I don’t run it. I only run a portion of the Seattle division. I hand out assignments that won’t need my assistance. It prevents me from spreading my knights out too thin, leaving them available for more pressing issues. How much does it piss you off knowing that you can’t go home, Remington?” he smirked wolfishly, victory shining in his azure stare.
“It wasn’t my home. It was just somewhere to pass the time,” I lied, rolling my eyes at his snort. “Of course, a Van Helsing would run the hunting guild. It actually makes perfect sense as to why we weren’t allowed to slaughter the blood bags. You had a Silversmith right beneath your nose and didn’t notice me, which must burn your alpha ass.”
“Admittedly, a little, but then I was coming to investigate the little spitfire that had climbed the ranks so rapidly. You see, I was aware of you, just not of what you were. I would have found you, Remington, even if you hadn’t returned home. There are not many who could do what you did, and certainly not in the time you did it. Most weapon masters take decades to learn their craft and adapt to what their role demands.”