Page 12

“Stop. I do care.”
Amber eyes trap mine so fast and fierce that my breath catches in my lungs. He dips his head in that feral way he always does, bringing us to eye level while still somehow hovering over me.
I watch the corner of his mouth tug up.
“Why?”
“I just do. Who are you?”
A wicked glimmer brightens his eyes for only a second. “Ezra.”
“Promise?”
He nods his head, his fingertips tracing lines down my thighs, teasing the skin.
I can’t help it. Jealousy roars through me, wild and unfettered, and I have no idea where it came from. I have no right to be jealous, but I am.
Maybe it’s because I have no experience with this. Or maybe I’m placing too much importance on a boy who gave me my first kiss. I’ve heard that happens. I just never understood it until now.
“Were you just with Hillary?”
Before he can answer, the door pops open, a line of soft, yellow light seeping in to break up the heavy shadows in our dark room. Ezra’s head snaps in that direction, his jaw tight, his body going frighteningly still.
I don’t know who’s at the door, nor do I care when I see for the first time the pattern of an ugly bruise on Ezra’s neck and shoulder, the dark blue-black stain dipping down beneath the collar of his shirt.
Without thinking, I grab the fabric and yank it down to see the shape of a handprint, four distinct fingers leading to his collarbone that I trace with my own, the touch snapping his attention back to me.
“Who did that to you?”
Anger flashes in his eyes, that and something else I can’t name. He pushes away from me, but I step forward to yank at his shirt again and see the damage.
I’m not even thinking, I just feel so full of fury that someone -anyone- hurt him like that. It’s visceral, this feeling, as if I have some claim on him that gives me the right to be mad. I barely know him, and already, I want to shelter him from some unknown danger. I want to stand in front of him and rage at whoever believed they could touch him withoutmyexplicit permission.
And really, how ridiculous is that? The twins fight for the fun of it, but I’m still livid at the idea that a person believed they had the right to hurt him back.
They say redheads have fiery tempers, and judging by what I’m feeling now, they’re right.
“Who?” I demand.
The anger bleeds out of him to be replaced with amusement, Ezra’s lips curling at the corners despite the way my brows crash together, and my mouth thins into a volatile line.
There’s an odd kinship between us now, a bond forged in fire and the threat of violence. Ezra recognizes in me what he has in himself, even though I don’t throw punches, and I appear weak and pampered on the outside.
The truth is far darker, and judging by the look on his face, he sees it and likes it.
“Are you mad?” he asks, soft laughter lining the question.
“I’m pissed.”
Ezra rushes forward, and I step back. My thighs hit a barrier, my bottom falling to sit on a mattress. Before I can push to my feet again, Ezra is above me, against me, all around me.
Feral.
There’s no other word to describe him.
His teeth nip at my skin just above the neckline of my dress, and I can’t move.
Not one inch.