Page 24

twenty-four

M istakes have been made.

It’s my very first thought when consciousness floods back to my unwilling body. My head throbs a little, in that way that tells me I had just a little too much to drink. But even more so that I really overdid it last night and didn’t give my body enough nutrients for marathon sex.

Though I’m not sure marathon sex covers everything we did during the night; the aches and pains along my skin and in my bones are enough to prove it. I groan without opening my eyes, though when a distant roll of thunder sounds, I’m relieved at the idea of not having to glare into the sun today.

“God, you’ve been doing this for an hour.” A voice beside me chuckles, just as an arm is thrown over me. I’m pulled back into the length of Huxley’s warm, solid frame, and I let out a soft huff as he rolls me over onto my back.

“I’m hungover.”

“You didn’t drink enough to be hungover, you’re just a baby,” he dismisses. “But if you want to be a brat this morning, I suppose I could let you. After all, you were so good for me, Kai?—”

“Don’t start,” I’m quick to interrupt. “Don’t you dare use the ‘g’ word. I want to sleep.”

He scoffs as he nuzzles my jaw, and I finally look up at him with narrowed eyes just as he leans upward just a little bit. It’s unfair just how gorgeous he is, and I sigh internally. Even if he is a serial killer with a stash of sedatives, Huxley really is just so damn perfect.

His scarred lip doesn’t detract from his looks at all. Quite honestly, I think it adds to them. Reaching up, I absently tangle my fingers in his hair and my jaw cracks open around a huge yawn. “You’re still here,” I murmur as an afterthought.

“Uh, yeah.” He seems a little offended that I’ve said it and turns to nip at my forearm like he’s punishing me for saying something stupid. “Yeah, you’re sort of stuck with me.”

“For how long?” I tug harder on his soft hair when he bites down, but that only seems to make him nip a little harder as his tongue darts out to taste my skin.

“Forever.”

“You have a house, though, don’t you? An apartment? A townhome? A mansion?”

Once again, he rolls his eyes at me in that cynical, almost irritated way. But I know it’s just for show. Especially when he dips down to bury his face against my throat. “I have an apartment I rent,” he tells me with his mouth against my neck. “So what? Doesn’t mean you aren’t stuck with me.”

“You have a job.”

“A few hours a day of separation is healthy, I hear.”

This time it’s me who rolls their eyes, and I fight not to slap the side of his head. “You…” I trail off, my confidence failing me, which it rarely does. My hesitation is surprising enough that I can feel him glance up at me, though I stare at the ceiling and listen to the first few drops of rain instead of meeting his dark, probing gaze.

“You’re a murderer.”

He chuckles and relaxes beside me, his arm still wrapped around my bare waist. “Yeah,” he agrees, moving just enough that his chin is on my shoulder and his nose brushes my ear. “Yeah, I’m definitely that.”

“I shouldn’t let you stay.” The words are hard to get out, but he doesn’t really seem phased by them.

“You shouldn’t.” He’s definitely not arguing with me, at least. “But you will. Because for some unknown reason, you really fucking like me. And before you make a comment, you like me for more than just my cock and how good I am at getting you to come on my fingers.”

“You have the personality of a rattlesnake,” is my quick, quipped reply. In response, he makes a hissing noise close to my ear and licks at my jaw with a snicker.

“Be glad I’m not venomous then,” he snickers. “Otherwise you’d be dead by now.” To prove his point, he sinks his teeth into the softness of my shoulder, turning me a little to do it. I murmur a soft sound of dissent, trying to put up some token amount of resistance.

But I can’t. Instead, my arm slides over his shoulders, inviting him to bite down harder. He does, to my delight, and sucks at my skin hard enough that I know I’m going to have a nice, dark mark right there. When he’s done, he releases me from his teeth, only to lave over the spot with his tongue. It’s a bit raw and irritated, so my skin tingles at every swipe, but it does nothing to quell the way my thighs press together to relieve the ache building between them.

“Stop,” I groan, finally pushing him away. “I told you I want to sleep. It’s way too early for this.” Though I flip over resolutely, I don’t resist when he cuddles against my back and wraps his arm over me again.

“I mean it,” he sighs, face against my shoulder. “You know that, right?”

“Mean what?” I ask absently, already fading back out as the storm picks up outside. I love to sleep during a storm, love to just lie in bed and listen to it swell and swell until?—

“You’re stuck with me for the rest of our unnatural lives. And if you ever flirt with anyone else or let another boy touch you”—he nudges the back of my neck with his lips—“I’ll take it as an invitation to skin them alive while you watch.”

“Good thing I don’t plan on doing that then,” I snap as my stomach twists with reservation and reminders of what he is.

But he just grins against my skin. “Maybe,” he agrees nonchalantly. “For now, anyway.” His words bother me, make me a little uneasy. But I don’t ask him what he means. I don’t ask if he expects me to want that.

To want to be part of his fucked up game.

K nocking on my door drags me out of my coma in a way that immediately leaves me irritated. I groan and roll over onto my face, as if that’ll somehow make it so I can’t hear the three rings of my doorbell and the next pounding sound as it reverberates through my walls.

“I’m going to kill her if it’s Patrice,” I hear Huxley murmur, and he gets to his feet with a sigh. Sitting up, I watch as he grabs his jeans and t-shirt from the floor, though he doesn’t bother putting on shoes. That’s when it strikes me how at home he looks here, in my room, with tousled hair and a sleepy look on his face.

Suddenly, the idea of him never leaving looks a lot better than it did when he first stated it as a possibility. Now I want to see this look of his every morning, where he just seems so adorable and innocent and Huxley .

But then of course he ruins it by grinning at me and crooks his fingers toward where I’m still comfortable in bed. “Come on, little bunny,” he coos. “She’s going to think you’re dead if you don’t come to the door as well. She’s only seen me once, remember? And the cops were involved.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, because he’s right. I drag myself to my feet and go to my closet, having the privilege of grabbing anything I want instead of what I wore last night. When I turn, however, I find Huxley’s attention fully on me, with eyes full of hunger and his lips pressed into a frown. Immediately I stop, with a t-shirt and running shorts in one hand. “What?” I ask, unsure.

“You,” he just says with a shrug. “Just…” He gestures at my body. “You. Existing. I’d rather you not wear anything at all and just exist like this for me.”

I smile at him before pulling on the shorts, then dragging my t-shirt on over head. “Yeah, well. Patrice might not like that. And she’d hit me with so many HOA fines I’d never get out of debt. If the sight of it didn’t just kill her and her delicate sensibilities first.”

“I keep telling you I could do that for you.” I follow Huxley out of the room, trailing after him down the hallway until he’s at the front door. Just as it hits me that maybe I should be the one to do the talking, Huxley unlocks the door and pulls it open to reveal Patrice’s unhappy, stunned face.

“Hello,” Huxley greets, leaning on the doorframe like he’s not considering all the ways he could kill her. “I’m glad you found a break in the rain to come over here.” He looks up at the still cloudy sky, like he’s concerned. “Did you need something?”

From behind him, I see Patrice gape at Huxley, like his appearance has ruined whatever speech she’s got wound up inside her. “I—” She glances back at my driveway, then at him. “Your truck,” she snaps finally. “I’m assuming it’s yours?”

“Yes, it is,” he agrees oh-so-politely. Though something on his face tells me that he’s definitely thinking of things that would terrify the poor old woman into having a heart attack on the spot.

And what a tragedy that would be.

“You’re blocking the sidewalk.” We stare at her as she says it, and I raise a brow just as I go on my toes to look out into my driveway. Sure enough, the tailgate of his truck is maybe two inches over where it should be, prompting me to roll my eyes.

“Seriously?” I ask, unable to be friendly this morning. “ Seriously ? How can you even tell? It’s literally?—”

“I’ll fix it,” Huxley promises, cutting me off smoothly and raising a hand placatingly. “She’s just tired, and we didn’t see it last night when we came back. I’ll put my shoes on and get it fixed ASAP if that’s okay with you.” He’s not really asking, and she must see it in his face, behind his charming grin.

Patrice opens her mouth, then hesitates. It occurs to me that even the dumbest person can spot a wolf in sheep’s clothing, even if they don’t quite realize that’s what they’re looking at. But some primal part of her must be ringing out the danger bells, because instead of her usual frustrating and argumentative nature, she just nods. “Get your shoes on first,” she agrees, almost like she’s trying to mollify him or agreeing to make herself look less irritating. “No rush.”

God, she never says that to me.

“Sorry about that. I’ll be more careful next time.” His smile is award-winning, and brighter than the sun that’s currently invisible in the sky. “Thanks for letting me know, though, instead of slapping Kai with a fine.”

I wish he wouldn’t bring up fines, since that’ll definitely make Patrice go feral and slap them all over wherever she can. At least, that’s her usual response. This time she shakes her head, offering him an almost friendly smile. “It’s too early to think about fines.” She shrugs. “I just wouldn’t want anyone running into your truck or riding a bike into it.”

She’s full of shit.

“Which I appreciate,” Hux agrees, still leaning comfortably on the doorframe. “I just bought that truck. I’d hate to go crying to insurance already about a ding or scratch.” He beams at her, and finally Patrice makes another excuse that has her off of my porch and trudging back across the street.

“I’ve never hoped for a car to appear and hit someone more than I do right now,” I murmur as we watch her go. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” Hux asks, distracted.

“You know…” I wave my hand at her. “ That . She just sort of agreed with you instead of reading you the riot act. Like she likes you or?—”

“She’s afraid of me.” He steps back and closes the door, one hand coming up to tug playfully on the front of my shirt. “Terrified, I think.”

“She has no idea what you are,” I argue, in case he thinks I told her for some reason. “She doesn’t know?—”

“She doesn’t need to.” He strides to my room, with me following like a loyal puppy. “Not consciously, anyway. Some people can just tell without really knowing why or understanding. It’s that animal part of our brain that never evolved past survival.”

“Oh.” Silently, I try to think back, try to wonder if I would’ve been able to tell just by meeting him.

“Little bunny.” He seems to know what I’m thinking, because once he has his shoes on, he comes back and tips my chin up so I meet his eyes. “Don’t think so hard,” Huxley coos with an affectionate edge to his voice. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you could tell or not without really knowing first.”

“Why?” I ask, watching as his gaze darkens.

It must be the right question, because his grin turns wolfish at the word. “Because you’re mine. And I like to believe you were always going to be mine. Whether it was going to be like this, or chained up in my basement until I could convince you to like me.”

I swallow hard, but he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t break eye contact while I fumble for words. “That’s maybe not as romantic as you think it is,” I finally manage to whisper.

But his grin only widens, and he tilts his head to one side. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, just before dropping his hand and brushing past me to go move his truck up about two inches.

I don’t follow this time, because to my surprise, I can’t immediately deny him.

I can’t say that I’m sure, or that he’s not right.

Maybe it is one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard. And maybe, no matter the circumstances, we always would’ve ended up right here.