Six months after that, she confronted him, and learned the ugly truth, reaping the disastrous results of her inattention.
Guilt for her part in the fiasco rose.
Grabbing hurt by the tail, Ferguson wrestled it into submission. Practice helped her stuff it back in its box and slam the lid closed. Showing weakness wasn’t a good idea. Not right now. She needed to keep her head in the game. Kruger was watching, looking for a soft spot, wondering how best to push her over the edge.
Speculation? Outright paranoia? Maybe, but she didn’t think so.
Intuition warned her to be careful. The beautiful man standing ten feet away might look human, but as she studied him, his otherness became apparent. In the same way she had with Montague, Ferguson sensed the beast in him. Powerful. Hungry. Seething just beneath his surface. Like most predators, Kruger possessed sharp edges and unerring instincts. If she gave him an inch, he’d steal a mile, leaving her to play catch-up right out of the gate.
So…what to do? How best to handle him?
Strategizing in silence, Ferguson flipped through her options. She needed to go on the attack, keep him off balance, never allow him to find his footing or—
“Yer name?” he asked, eyes narrowed on her.
His brogue washed over her. Resonant timbre. Pitch perfect with gorgeous undertones. Pleasure chased a shiver down her spine. She murdered her reaction, killing the shimmy mid-quiver. He didn’t need to know she found him attractive…or that the sound of his voice made her tingle in interesting places.
“Ferguson McGilvery,” she said, struggling to maintain control.
“’Tis a male’s name.”
She looked down at her chest. Yup. Still there. A full D cup strapped into a sports bra, hidden behind the binder pressed to her chest. “Really?”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “So, you’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“A smart-ass.”
“Could be,” she said, stepping out from behind Hendrix.
The gorgon shook his head, warning her to stay behind him.
Patting his arm, she walked around Hendrix. She stopped five feet from Kruger, sending a clear message. She wasn’t afraid of him and refused to be intimidated. Ferguson waited until understanding dawned in his eyes. The second it did, her attention left him, and she looked around. Unlike her tiny apartment in Chicago, her new place was bright and airy, stylish, with a lot of old-world charm. Not that she’d seen much, but if the rest of the place was anything like the living room, she wouldn’t complain.
Her attention strayed to the wall of floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The tight tangle in her chest unraveled as she looked over the spines. A curated collection, one that would keep her in books for months. Thank God. A distraction. A place to unwind when the outside world got too loud and she needed peace and quiet.
“Anyone ever call you Fergie?”
Dragging her gaze from the books, she glanced at Kruger. “Close friends do, but since you aren’t one of those, don’t call me that.”
“What should I call you, then?”
“Ms. McGilvery.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She bit down on a smile. “Only fair, since you’re here to piss me off.”
“How do you figure?”
“You’re succeeding, by the way,” she said, ignoring his question. “Just in case you were wondering.”
“Jesus,” Kruger muttered. “Been here two minutes ’n’ you’re already a pain in the arse.”
“You invaded my home. What did you expect in return—compliance?”
Annoyance flamed in his black eyes. A flicker of fire followed, licking over the tops of his shoulders. Curious thing, though—his t-shirt remained intact. No scorch marks on white cotton. Zero damage done to his skin as tendrils danced around the tattoo inked around one of his biceps.
She looked a little closer. Precise lines drawn by a steady hand. A black and gray design with scales half covered by the sleeve of his shirt. A snake, maybe? Could be a dragon too, but—
Hendrix cleared his throat. “Ah, my liege?”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured, mesmerized by the fire dancing across Kruger’s arm: crimson and emerald flames touched by gold, an interesting color combination. Kind of festive, actually.
“Perhaps it would be best to invite him to join you in a more public—”
Kruger snarled, exposing the sharp points of his canines.
“I’ll take that snack now, Hendrix,” she said without looking away from the dragon warrior about to lose his cool in her living room. “Though forget about the coffee. I’m gonna need a stiff drink instead.”
Hendrix threw her a wild look. “I cannot leave you alone with him.”
“He’s not going to hurt me. We’ll be fine.” A calculated risk. A serious gamble that might cost her in the end, but some things couldn’t be avoided. Kruger meant business. She needed to know why. “Won’t we, Kruger?”
The shimmering glint in his eyes intensified.
Gaze boring into his, she raised a brow.
Kruger tipped his chin.
“You cannot trust him, my liege.”
“I’m aware,” she said, giving the gorgon a pointed look. One that stated she could not only handle herself, but knew what she was doing.
Guys like Kruger never responded to weakness. Given an opening, they crushed people, rolling over any and all objections, so no sense pussyfooting around.
“See you in a few, Hendrix.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen, my liege.” Giving Kruger a perturbed look, the gorgon turned with a flick of his tail. Scales rasped over the floor as he disappeared through the French doors. “Not far away, if you have need of me.”
“Got any tequila around?” she asked, tossing the binder by Kruger. The corner grazed his arm before the binder landed in one of the armchairs. He frowned at her. A throw pillow hit the floor, then rolled into the glass-topped coffee table. “I could use a shot…or five.”
Kruger watched the pillow a second, then glanced at her. “Spirits are in the study.”
Spirits?
Ferguson froze. What did he mean? Had he seen something he shouldn’t have? Was he able to see what she saw? The idea Kruger might be able to sense her ability—in the same way she read the complexities in his—rattled her.
No one else knew about her visitors. No one in the living world, at least.
Panic spiraled into full-blown paranoia, asking dangerous questions. Ignoring every single one, she kept her expression blank, then killed her reaction, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. For Cuthbert, or Luther, or, heaven forbid, Jethro to appear in a puff of pot-infused smoke.
Kruger’s brows snapped together. “Lass?”
The wariness in his voice nudged her. She raised a brow, going on the offense to cover her unease. “Spirits?”
“Aye.”
Her stomach knotted. “What kind?”
“No clue. Wasn’t here tae tie one on, so I didnae bother checking. Just saw a bunch of bottles in the sideboard.”
“You’ve been snooping?”
Kruger shrugged.
“Know thine enemy?”
“Something like that.”
Reassured he hadn’t uncovered her secret, she launched evasive maneuvers and pointed at the flames undulating on his skin. “You might want to put that out. Carbon monoxide, you know. Not good for anybody.”