hug her back. “Jane—what is it?”
She pulled away from him. “Someone is in my room.”
Rhys frowned up at her, confusion clear on his face. “What?”
Jane could tell by the heaviness of his eyelids, it was his exhaustion rather than her words that confused him. So she said them again slowly, “Someone is in my room.”
“Did you see someone?”
“No—but I could tell he was there.”
He nodded, although she was fairly sure he didn’t believe her. He patted the other side of his bed. “Get in.”
She hesitated, then scooted around the bed and scrambled under the covers. She turned to face Rhys, but she could tell he had already fallen back to sleep. He was once more totally still.
She rolled back over and stared at the closed and locked door. The cold, creeping feeling on her skin was gone. Everything felt normal, but there was no way she was stepping back into that hallway. Or back in her room.
She shivered and pulled the covers tighter over her. Maybe it had been a nightmare. Or residual anxiety over what had happened to her with the guy from the bar. Or even the mugging. But it didn’t really matter, because she was staying right here—even if Rhys did think she was a big chicken in the morning.
* * *
Christian materialized into the derelict building that he had converted into his makeshift home just as the first rays of sun peeked over the city’s skyline.
He crawled onto the mattress he’d situated in the center of the building, where those lethal rays couldn’t reach him.
Exhaustion overcame him as it did for all his kind, especially on a day that was clear and the sun was bright.
But his last thought before he sank into blackened oblivion was that Rhys had a woman. He’d gone to see if he could sense how Rhys had fared his attack, and he found the little mortal from the alley. And he could sense Rhys’s possession all over her.
Very interesting.
He would have to keep an eye on that.
Rhys leaned on an elbow and watched Jane sleep. Both of them had managed to sleep the whole day away.
She lay snuggled against his side, her head nestled in the crook of his arm. Even, quiet breaths whispered warmly over his chest and shoulder.
He didn’t understand what he found so fascinating about just watching her breathe. But there was something so mesmerizing about it. Something thrilling about the tiny flutter of her pulse just above the slight jut of her collarbone.
He lifted his hand to touch the spot, but instead brushed a strand of her cropped hair away from her cheek. His fingers lingered, and he marveled at the softness of her skin, the flawlessness of her complexion like porcelain decorated with pale pink. A single finger trailed down to her lips, the skin there pinker and even softer.
He moved his hands away, hating to disturb her sleep. She looked so relaxed, so unguarded—not at all like the often wary, uncertain woman from the night before.
Of course, he could understand her apprehension. She had been uprooted from everything she’d known and thrust into a whole new world, surrounded by strangers who were completely different from her.
Too different, his mind warned, but he pushed the thought away. No—he had gone about things wrong. He just needed to make sure she understood, truly understood that he intended to care for her. He sensed boldness buried under that uncertainty. She would be fine here.
He moved his hand to rest on her waist and held her.
She burrowed against him with a content sigh. Then her eyes flew open, and she stared up at him, all that trustfulness gone.
“Good morning.”
“Hi,” she said, shifting away from him.
He knew he should let her go, it was the gentlemanly thing to do, the appropriate thing, but his hand held her fast.
Her eyes widened more, but she stilled against him. She swallowed, then said, “I shouldn’t have come here. I—I thought there was someone in my room. But I think it must have been a nightmare.”
He nodded. He
She pulled away from him. “Someone is in my room.”
Rhys frowned up at her, confusion clear on his face. “What?”
Jane could tell by the heaviness of his eyelids, it was his exhaustion rather than her words that confused him. So she said them again slowly, “Someone is in my room.”
“Did you see someone?”
“No—but I could tell he was there.”
He nodded, although she was fairly sure he didn’t believe her. He patted the other side of his bed. “Get in.”
She hesitated, then scooted around the bed and scrambled under the covers. She turned to face Rhys, but she could tell he had already fallen back to sleep. He was once more totally still.
She rolled back over and stared at the closed and locked door. The cold, creeping feeling on her skin was gone. Everything felt normal, but there was no way she was stepping back into that hallway. Or back in her room.
She shivered and pulled the covers tighter over her. Maybe it had been a nightmare. Or residual anxiety over what had happened to her with the guy from the bar. Or even the mugging. But it didn’t really matter, because she was staying right here—even if Rhys did think she was a big chicken in the morning.
* * *
Christian materialized into the derelict building that he had converted into his makeshift home just as the first rays of sun peeked over the city’s skyline.
He crawled onto the mattress he’d situated in the center of the building, where those lethal rays couldn’t reach him.
Exhaustion overcame him as it did for all his kind, especially on a day that was clear and the sun was bright.
But his last thought before he sank into blackened oblivion was that Rhys had a woman. He’d gone to see if he could sense how Rhys had fared his attack, and he found the little mortal from the alley. And he could sense Rhys’s possession all over her.
Very interesting.
He would have to keep an eye on that.
Rhys leaned on an elbow and watched Jane sleep. Both of them had managed to sleep the whole day away.
She lay snuggled against his side, her head nestled in the crook of his arm. Even, quiet breaths whispered warmly over his chest and shoulder.
He didn’t understand what he found so fascinating about just watching her breathe. But there was something so mesmerizing about it. Something thrilling about the tiny flutter of her pulse just above the slight jut of her collarbone.
He lifted his hand to touch the spot, but instead brushed a strand of her cropped hair away from her cheek. His fingers lingered, and he marveled at the softness of her skin, the flawlessness of her complexion like porcelain decorated with pale pink. A single finger trailed down to her lips, the skin there pinker and even softer.
He moved his hands away, hating to disturb her sleep. She looked so relaxed, so unguarded—not at all like the often wary, uncertain woman from the night before.
Of course, he could understand her apprehension. She had been uprooted from everything she’d known and thrust into a whole new world, surrounded by strangers who were completely different from her.
Too different, his mind warned, but he pushed the thought away. No—he had gone about things wrong. He just needed to make sure she understood, truly understood that he intended to care for her. He sensed boldness buried under that uncertainty. She would be fine here.
He moved his hand to rest on her waist and held her.
She burrowed against him with a content sigh. Then her eyes flew open, and she stared up at him, all that trustfulness gone.
“Good morning.”
“Hi,” she said, shifting away from him.
He knew he should let her go, it was the gentlemanly thing to do, the appropriate thing, but his hand held her fast.
Her eyes widened more, but she stilled against him. She swallowed, then said, “I shouldn’t have come here. I—I thought there was someone in my room. But I think it must have been a nightmare.”
He nodded. He
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