I stood there, facing him, shoulders asstiff as an A-frame as I curled my hands into fists. It didn’tmatter that one of my palms was so damaged it felt like it wouldhave permanent scarring. “Where the hell do you get off? It thisamusing to you? You left me there to die. Why, tomake some stupid point? That I need you to protect me? Well, don’tknow if you noticed, jerk, but I got out of that situation on myown.”
… I got out of that situation on myown.
What I was saying struck me.
I’d seen the future again, and it hadsaved me.
Though that thought was powerful, I keptmy expression even. And, by even, I mean totally pissed. I wasn’tgoing to let this jerk know what I was thinking.
“You think you don’t need me?”he said after a considerablepause. The kind of pause that brought attention to just how stifflyhe was standing, to just how angrily he was gazing my way. “And youthink I would have let you die? I was there. Waiting. If you hadn’tused your ability to save yourself, I would have stepped in. Youhave my word on that.”
There was something about the way hesaid word, somethingabout the way his voice shook. And, more than anything, somethingabout the way he suddenly made direct eye contact. The kind ofdirect eye contact ordinary people don’t make. Because ordinarypeople are too full of themselves, too distracted, or too damnpolite to stare you right in the eye like they were going to walkthrough the doors of your soul.
I was ashamed to say that look derailedme. For like half a second.
I spluttered, indignation still shakingthrough me like a violent storm. “Oh, that sure is reassuring. Youwould have stepped in if I’d needed it. When, exactly? When I’dbeen dragged down to Hell to burn to a crisp?”
“I would have stepped in if you’dneeded me,” he repeatedonce more, using one of those infuriating calm tones that told me Iwas overreacting. Problem was, Iwasn’t overreacting.
This jerk had left me to die.
Though I was usually pretty good withconfrontation, all I wanted to do was either force Max out ofthe house,or run away myself.
Yet, as I turned hard on my foot andjerked towards the kitchen door, he was there. Right in front ofme. Don’t ask me how he did it. It was magic, of course.
He was close enough that all I had to dowas reach a handout, ball it into afist, and strike it on his chest.
I usually didn’t strike out. With my words,maybe. With my intelligence, definitely. With my fists? Hello, Iwas better than that.
Ordinarily.
As a pang of anger and the leftover dregsof fear spiraled through me, I snapped. I pushed forward andstruck himright on that wall of achest.
He did nothing.
His arms were crossed again, and he didn’teven bother to unhook them to catch my wrist.
He just stared at me, gaze deadly even.
Which just made me all the more pissedoff.
“You bastard,” I spat again as I struck him once more.
It did nothing.
So I struck again. I cried, tearsstreaming down my cheeks, dribbling down my neck, touching mycollar. My shirt was all rumpled, torn in places, covered in gritand dirt. I’d been dragged down the street, after all.
And this guy? He didn’t care.
So, as the tears streamed even harder, Iballed up my other hand – the one that was badly burnt – and Ithumped it against his chest. Except, this time, he reacted.Showing that god-given speedonce more, he reached forward and grabbed my wrist. He closed hisfingers around it, locking it in place with that large, roughthumb. It was not, however, a violent move. It was almost like hewas trying to contain my wrist, not break it.
“Stop,” he said, that brogue shaking through the room. “You’reinjured, remember?”
For the first time, that dead-even expression cracked. Just aglimmer of actual concern parted his lips, softened his jaw, andflickered in hisgaze.
Which made me all the more pissedoff.
How dare he act concerned for me now. Hestood there and watched as a terrifying monster dragged me down adarkened street. I didn’t care if it was some pixie, I didn’t careif Max thought he’d been in control – no one should have to gothrough a terrifying experience like that.
The tears completely soaked my cheeks now.I was surprised I still had that many to cry – I thought I’d gonedry after all the bawling I’d done when the pixie had attackedme.
I tried to yank my hand back, but Maxwouldn’t let me. As Itook several steps back to gain the purchase I’d need to pull mywrist out of his delicate grip, he just walked with me until he wasstanding there – right in front of me, leg pressed up against mine,chest a bare half centimeter from my own, and face right there –close enough to kiss.
Close enough to kiss. With any other guy,in any other moment, that would have been an appropriate thought.Now? It should be the last thing on my mind.
“Chi, you’re injured. And let me repeatonce more – I would have stepped in ifyou’d needed it. You didn’t. Because you saw the future, right? Andyou acted on it, right?”
I wanted to jerk back and hit him again.Instead, I was kind of stuck there, staring up at his face. No, Iwasn’t stuck because of his perfect jaw, because of his highcheekbones, because of those glittering eyes. I was stuck becauseof something far deeper. That same connection I’d felt when he’dfirst arrived on my doorstep.
“Just calm down,” he added in a low, quiet tone. “And realize whatyou just did. You used the same ability you did to stop me. Yousaved yourself from that pixie, Chi. And let me tell you, that’squite a feat.”
“I… I don’t care,” I said, trying to hold onto my anger. Myanger? It was slipping away like water through parted fingers.
“Yes, you do. Though you’re a liar, I thinkyou’ve always wanted to tell the future, right? There was a timeyou actually believed it was possible, wasn’t there?”
I shook my head vigorously. “Absolutelynot—”
He snorted. “You’re like an open book, ChiMcLane. You may
