Reagan turned around, a strip of—was that leather?—in her mouth. She ripped a chunk off with her teeth, chewing as she said, “Seriously? You don’t know what bacon is? Try this.” She held out the strip.
I raised my hands, palms out, and took a slow step back. “Whoa, there. Hold on a sec. Is that meat? ‘Cause that’s a shifter thing, not a Fae—” My stomach lurched as I thought about what she had done. “Are you eating your pet?”
She fidgeted with the stove’s burner, lowering the flames. Then she sashayed around the counter, arm still out. “I will force-feed you. I don’t have a pet.” She grinned slyly. “Anymore.”
Ah crap. Now she was coming at me with her full body on display, a playful look on that adorable face. I was screwed. I had no choice but to retreat. Without looking—because there was no way I could pry my eyes from what was heading toward me—I backpedaled. She kept coming, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
But I made a grave mistake in not watching where I was going.
The living room was sunken in.
My left foot found nothing but air and I was falling, falling. Oof! I looked up at a grinning Reagan still holding that red strip of disgusting mystery meat.
“We’re ten stories up, and I have a key to every room in the apartment. One bite and I’ll leave you alone.”
Bite.
My mind went places it shouldn’t, remembering that night when she’d bitten my shoulder and I bit her arm. I glanced at that arm now. Sure enough, the mark from my teeth was still there. Warmth pooled in my gut at the sight of those crescent scars and I wrenched my eyes away. What did she think of that scar? Of being marked by a Fae? By me?
At the thought of the pain I’d caused her after that bite—when I’d been so tired and furious and stupid—I gave in. Gaia, I gave in and opened my mouth.
Her face lit in delight as she inched closer, ripping off a third of the strip. Gently, cautiously, she pressed the piece to my bottom lip. Before I could even slide the thing called bacon all the way into my mouth, I knew I was forever changed. Smokey, salty, sweet perfection exploded on my tongue and a surprised moan left me. Flames of embarrassment heated my neck at the look Reagan was giving me—self-satisfied, like a spoiled cat. But when I bit down and heard a crunch, my eyes slid closed and I moaned again without reservation.
So this was what meat tasted like. I was a fan. Definitely a fan.
“Told you so,” she said, and I watched greedily as she finished off the last bite. “Now, do you want some bacon?”
Still munching away, my mouth tipped into a frown. “Am I not eating bacon?” I paused in my chewing. “Then what am I eating?”
“You’re hilarious. And now you’re not getting more.” I stuck my bottom lip out and rounded my eyes at her. “Pouty lips don’t work here. You’ll have to try harder.”
She turned on her heel, waltzing back to the kitchen. The stovetop clicked back on and a sizzle filled the room.
I lay there, studying the back of her head, not entirely sure what to make of her words. Harder. What did she want me to do, exactly? Beg? A grin tugged at my mouth and I jumped to my feet, striding toward the kitchen. I sidled up behind her, my chest lightly brushing against her—
I stopped my mind from thinking of what stood right in front of me. What I was doing. Gaia, what was I doing? Crap. Too late to back out now. I was doing this, even if the heat from the stove was boiling me alive. Bending down so my lips grazed the shell of her ear, I whispered, “Please?”
Reagan jumped, giggling as she batted at my face gently. “That tickles. Stop, you can have more.”
At the carefree sound she’d made, my breath stalled. Giggling. Eyes lit with mirth. A blade stabbed my chest and I stumbled back. Breathing became impossible. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t—
“Do you—” My voice cracked and I roughly cleared my throat. “Do you have something I could change into? I’m kind of . . .” Unable to finish, I pointed at my blood-stained shirt.
Her eyes narrowed as they skirted the length of me. “Yeah, I should have offered sooner, sorry. You can shower. The bathroom is in my room and there’s spare clothing in the guest room.” Her gaze flicked back to my face. “Are you all right? You seem . . . antsy.”
As I inched toward the hallway, still unable to meet her eyes, I said, “Yeah, yeah. Fine. I’ve had a rough couple of days.” I continued backing up until a wall hid her from view, then whipped around, practically jogging down the hallway in my attempt to create distance. Lots and lots of distance.
I found her room and refused to explore, striding straight to the bathroom. Inside, I quietly closed the door and leaned against it, finally releasing my breath. She was messing with my head. This arrangement was no good. I couldn’t stay here. Something in me would eventually explode being trapped like this, forced to confront growing feelings I shouldn’t have. Didn’t want to have.
Pushing away from the door, I stripped off the filthy clothing, wadding them into a ball and tucking them in a corner. In that corner was a . . . I blinked in surprise. A plant? As far as I knew, shifters repelled nature. They surrounded themselves with concrete walls and little else. Seeing a touch of green in this pristine white room skewed my perspective of Reagan even more.
My eyelids began to burn and I pressed my palms against them, cursing. How could this short, slip-of-a-girl have so thoroughly burrowed beneath my skin?
