Austin gnashed his teeth at her as if to emphasize this point, whereas Zach sat back, and…beat his tail. Which was intentionally doglike, if you asked her. His brother looked utterly disgusted with him. Damian yanked the room’s curtains shut and sat on the visitor couch, closing his eyes. Which meant he wouldn’t see if she pet Zach. She leaned out and Damian spoke up again, without looking. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she asked, not moving.
“Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re doing,” he answered her.
“But…” she protested.
Damian’s golden eyes opened and took all of her in. “I need to think, and I’m tired of words.”
All he wanted was a moment to himself. Just one moment, to clear his head and think things through—and somehow stay angry. At her. Because everything about her made him weak. He was angry that she’d seen him for what he was and hadn’t run, angry that he wanted to let her in, angry that all of his attempts to frighten her away tonight hadn’t done a fucking thing—not even when she’d almost died from a lurker. She should be cowering somewhere, mind broken, utterly panicked, begging him to take her home—not trying to pet his werewolf best friend like he was some goddamned Fido.
But she couldn’t even give him that—because of course she couldn’t, when had she ever done anything easily?—and he opened his eyes up and saw her standing there looking bereft.
There, he had what he wanted. Right?
Zach cocked an eyebrow at him meaningfully.
Goddammit.
Damian moved over on the couch. “Come here, Andi.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think you can just order me around all the time?”
“NOW,” he barked.
She didn’t move a muscle. She really wasn’t going to listen to him. He was tempted to lunge over the wolves and pick her up to get her away from them and then do whatever the fuck he wanted to her, but instead, he collapsed dramatically backward and clutched at his rib cage.
“Damian?” Her voice rose in an arc of worry as she rushed to his side.
“It’s just…I…,” he said, mock-groaning as her hands fluttered, chasing his. Up close, she smelled amazing, and then her hands were on his chest and he wanted them elsewhere—wanted more of everything with her—and he forgot to keep up the act.
“You!” she shouted, shoving at him the second she realized.
“I did hurt there. For a second,” he lied, smirking.
God, she smelled so right. And an unwise part of him wanted to wrap her in his arms, to just breathe her in, and know that she was whole and okay. He snuck his arm around her waist, ready to hold onto her if she tried to move away.
“Just…stay away from the wolves, okay? They have more teeth than sense.”
She rocked away and stopped touching him, but she didn’t stand up. “I’m getting a strong current of pot-kettle-black here.”
He snorted. “Good, because I’d tell you the same thing about my dragon. We share the same body, but he isn’t me. And he’s not pettable, either.”
Why not? his dragon asked him.
Not-the-fuck-now, Damian replied, making sure that none of his internal exchange showed upon his face.
“If he’s not you, then who is he?” Andi asked, her brow furrowing.
Damian closed his eyes and groaned in pain for real this time. “It’s too complicated…”
And when he opened his eyes, she was frowning at him again. “Why won’t you ever answer anything?”
“Because, princess, just because,” he answered like that was enough, although from her expression it clearly wasn’t. She was so close beside him now and his body roared to move against hers. His arm was already looped behind her; it would be nothing to scoop her into his lap and hold her there—pressed against him. How come her presence—the very smell of her, even!—kept clouding his mind like some kind of drug, making him hyperaware of her proximity at all times, and aching for his next hit? No one had ever made him feel like that before—which was yet another reason to be angry.
Because this was not who he was. He was Damian Blackwood, in control of himself and his dragon—always, completely—at all times. If he lost control, people died.
But he reached out against all of his better judgment and stroked the blue streak in her hair off her cheek and back behind her ear. Her eyes were wide, and her lips were parted, and all of this was her fault somehow. Even if she wasn’t doing it on purpose, it was still happening. He had to get away from her—or closer, now, dear God, yes—there was no in-between.
Then he heard a sound coming to save him. Maximillian and his Forgetting Fire. Damian dropped his hand, back to business, and ignored the noises coming from the wolves that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
“About damn time,” Damian said, standing suddenly, leaving her hanging again. Andi fought not to sway. He’d wanted to kiss her, and she didn’t know what she wanted, but she hadn’t really wanted to stop him, and then a switch inside him flipped. How could he turn himself on and off like that? He was glowering now and Andi wondered if he even realized when he did it, or if being the definition of mercurial was just his natural state.
There was a crackling sound outside—increasing in volume—like either a giant was tramping through a forest, or the whole building was on fire. She kept expecting to hear a Code Red announced as the crackling sound got louder, passed them, presumably reached the end of the hall, then turned back before silencing right outside their door.
There was a rap on the glass. “Damian?”
“We need at least two spheres in here, but I’ll take four if you’ve got them,” Damian said, loud enough to be heard. The glass door slid open, and four marble sized things rolled in.
Damian picked up all of them and held out two in one palm toward the wolves. They each daintily took one into their mouths, and as they did so, Andi watched them completely disappear and she yelped in surprise. Damian ignored her. “You can come in now, Max.”
The door opened all the way, but there was no one there. Just the hallway.
“A…ghost?” she guessed aloud. She knew there was such a thing as werewolves now, so why the fuck not?
“No, spheres. A magical object that protects the outside world from seeing us.” Damian handed one over to her and she took it. She didn’t feel any different, but now she could see the wolves again, and the ghost turned out to be a very-pale skinned man, clad mostly in black leather, who had what looked like welders goggles on over a mohawk of ice blond hair that wasn’t spiked but rested to one side like Death’s horse’s mane. He held out a lantern that had all its windows covered—for now.
A second later, Damian joined them there, in their hidden world just under other people’s noses. Maximillian coughed and not-so-subtly swung his lantern in Andi’s direction. Damian shook his head. “Get the boys home and stay out of trouble. Hunters might be present.”
“Understood,” Maximillian said with a nod, then opened the door again. The wolves ran out under fluorescent lights, their claws clicking on the linoleum tile, even more improbable outside the room than they’d been inside it. Zach looked back at her and gave her a short ayoo as she waved helplessly at him. Without him here to distract her, everything was real again. And it was all going to really hit her—soon.