Moving so that we’re eye to eye, he rivets his gaze to mine as if he can see through to my most secret thoughts.
“Am I? I’m simply making an observation based on the scent of your fear and needs.”
He searches my eyes and I try to pretend he’s not affecting me, but I know I fail. I know he knows too, because there’s something strange between us— him and I. Something wicked and alien to me.
It feels like attraction, but it can’t simply be that. There’s no way.
Attractionfeels like too meager a word to describe this… entity.
This entity my soul warns me to be careful of.
Schooling my thoughts, I think of a way to tone the conversation down.
“Your observation is wrong.”
“I am never wrong.” He chuckles. “You do that test and we’ll see how right I am.”
“Are you going to do a test?” I can imagine him being the kind of man to live in a brothel where he can eat, sleep, drink, and breathe women.
Desmier straightens and I’m able to breathe properly again.
“I’m clean. I don’t need a test. It’s you who needs to follow my rules, not me.”
“But I’m clean too.” I’m as clean as could be.
“I need to be sure. I don’t want to catch anything my brother might have given you. Unless he hasn’t gone there yet.”
I should tell him I’m a virgin, but I don’t. I noticed earlier that any talk of Viktor irritates him, so I decide to piss him off a little more.
“Oh we’ve gone there many times.” I imbue my voice with strength I don’t feel.
When that darkness drifts into his eyes, I realize I’m right.
But what in the ever-loving fuck did I just do? I got carried away and lied. If I can’t get myself out of this mess—and it’s not looking like I will—he’ll know the truth soon enough.
“I guess that’s all the more reason for you to go to the doctor.”
The sound of someone clearing their throat has us turning toward the door.
The sultry silver-blue eyes of a tall model-like woman with long straight hair stares at me. She’s wearing an elegant black strapless jumpsuit and her makeup is perfect enough to allow her to stand in line with the Kardashians in a photoshoot. I peg her to be in her mid to late twenties. She’s the woman from yesterday. I didn’t see a whole lot of her then but recognize the little daisy tattooed on her wrist.
In the few seconds it takes for her gaze to flick from my face to Desmier’s, I learn a few things. One is that she doesn’t like this situation any more than I do, presumably because of her recognizable interest in Desmier. The next thing is her standoffish, scrutinizing attitude—and she hasn’t even said anything yet.
“I’m ready when you are,” she tells Desmier.
When he nods, she walks away, but not without glancing back at me first.
“Who is that?” I ask. I shouldn’t bother myself, but I want to know.
I look back at Desmier and wait for his answer.
He pushes to his feet. “That’s Gytha. My assistant.”
Assistant?
I wonder what she assists him in doing exactly. I doubt it’s paperwork.
“See you later, Valkyrie. Don’t do anything stupid.” He gives me a thin smile, then leaves to join Gytha.