Chapter 6
Bella
I knew I was being followed!
And now I know who it is. It wasn’t a coincidence that I met Mr. Masked Man/ Muscles/Blondie in the poison garden on Monday. I’ll bet anything it’s him.
Who is he? What does he want?
If he’s stalking me, why did he let me see him?
If he means me harm, why did he step in to protect me from Radley?
Maybe he wants to kill me himself. Maybe he’s a Vesuvio… although I didn’t see any pentacle tattoos on him. Maybe Dominus hired out? Hired a hit man to come after me?
That would be interesting. Oh, I have ways to defend myself. If he lays hands on me, he will regret it. But it’s fun to fantasize about him actually overpowering me. Stripping away my armor and smashing through my careful defenses.
The fear excites me. Makes me hot.
I’ve never had such a sexy guy out to murder me. How would he do it? A knife? A gun? Or would he put his large hands around my neck and squeeze?
The threat of danger amplifies my arousal. The fear twists with lust, transforming it into something wicked and delicious. Something beautiful and deadly. Toxic.
My favorite!
As soon as I climb into bed at night, I slip my hand into my panties and find myself already slippery and wet. I don’t even need to crack my favorite Viking romance novel—the one with a muscular, long-haired, blond guy on the cover.
There’s a creak outside my window. I freeze before realizing it has to be the wind shaking the oak tree and making the branches scrape against the glass pane. There’s no one there, of course. No reason for goosebumps to spread over me, imagining someone watching me.
Imagining him watching me. Stripping me bare with his gaze. I run a hand down my chest, between my breasts, and to my belly. I’m quivering, thinking of him.
I touch myself for a while, just picturing him.
I didn’t see his whole face, but what I did see captivated me.
The dark ocean of his eyes, the blue broken by a white starburst around his pupils.
His long hair, dirty blond with a little curl to it.
The tip of one ear peeked out, and it was misshapen like it had been turned inside out.
His tattoos were faded but beautifully sinister.
One of them, a spiderweb, covered the back of his right hand.
I imagine that hand around my neck, trapping me, holding me down so I can’t breathe…
And I come so hard, my head rings, and my ears echo with the sound of my moans.
What the fuck was that? I usually need a lot more stimulation to get off, but this time I didn’t even take the time to grab my vibrator.
I lay with limbs splayed, unable to move. The wind rustles the leaves outside my window, and I feel it again—the sensation of being watched.
I’m alone in the big house. I like being alone, but lately, I’ve wondered if it’s safe. Every creak of the hardwood floors makes me nervous.
I fall asleep, imagining the masked man standing over my bed, keeping guard.
Friday morning, I head out early. I’ve dressed in a pink plaid skirt and a short white top that shows a strip of skin above my belly button. I even put my hair back into twin pigtail braids.
I look like prey. A cute, innocent schoolgirl, all alone.
I sense my stalker’s presence as soon as I hit the end of the block and pull out my phone to use as a mirror, pretending to check my hair. I don’t see a hair on Blondie’s head.
But then—there, in the forest. Are those shadows dappling the truck of an oak tree or a man in a skull mask?
I whirl around but… no one’s there. No man, masked or otherwise. The leaves of a nearby beech tree tremble, but that could just be the wind.
Or it could be him.
Either way, he’s good. I like this game!
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” I blow a big bubble of watermelon-flavored gum and let it pop in my face before licking it off my lips, using plenty of tongue. I’m trying to be sexy to lure him out, but I’m not sure if I’m nailing it.
I shrug and continue on. Today I’m going to eat breakfast at the infamous Three Diner instead of one of the Principessa bakeries.
Three Diner is close to campus, in a run-down area of Metropolis that’s escaped gentrification. The shiny silver exterior hasn’t changed in fifty years.
The place is packed when I walk in. A tattooed waitress in a pink uniform greets me with a grunt. “Only seats available are at the bar.”
“Can I wait for a booth?”
“No.”
I must take too long to decide because she turns her back on me. Rude waitstaff is another perk of the diner.
The door jingles behind me, and in walks a group of guys I recognize from orientation day with Honey. Lacrosse players. They look like they’ve recovered from their bout with food poisoning, but their energy is less cocky, more subdued.
They’ve suffered an L and everyone knows it.
One of them sees me, and recognition flares in his eyes. He nudges his buddies. One by one, they fall silent and turn to glare at me. They know I cost them the championship. Radley must have clued them in.
I smack my gum and give them a happy little wave. Their faces flush. Oooh, they’re mad. Are they gonna do anything about it? Most guys are taught to never hit a girl. Supervillain Rule #2: It’s easy to beat an opponent who plays by the rules.
If they do attack, it might be fun. Maybe I can turn it into a food fight, like on season three of Vampire Varsity. I’ve never been in one before. The waitress won’t like it, but maybe she’ll join in. Except she looks more the type to pull out a switchblade and start stabbing.
YOLO!
Before anything interesting happens, a shadow falls over me, and a hand clutches the back of my neck. It’s large and warm and grips me firmly enough that I won’t be able to quickly shake it off.
I go very still.
“She’s with me,” a deep voice rumbles above my head.
Goosebumps spread all over my body, like I’m outside facing an oncoming storm, and my heart trips.
I don’t need to look up to know who it is. I can imagine that spiderweb tattoo on the back of my neck, and suddenly, my heartbeat is booming in my ears.
The lacrosse guys look up at him and blanch.
“There’s a two-hour wait,” the waitress rasps at them. “Come back later.”
There are some muttered complaints, but they leave, slamming the door behind them. I feel disappointed. I was looking forward to Mr. Muscles beating them into a pulp.
“Hello again.” I look up at my protector. And freeze.
He’s not wearing a mask.
Pretty, I want to gasp. He’s got a classically symmetrical face that’s almost brutally good-looking. High forehead with that faint scar, blond brows, golden stubble covering his perfect jaw and chin. He’s so pretty I can barely look at him!
No, not pretty, my instincts say. Dangerous. There’s something predatory about those beautiful blue eyes. He’s a hottie with a dangerous aura, and that only makes my heart flutter faster. My cheeks are warm, just being close to him.
I can’t believe he’s here, looming larger than life. He takes up more than his fair share of space in the tight diner. And he’s so tall he probably had to duck through the door.
I don’t know how such a big guy snuck up on me, but he saved the day, again.
He’s still touching me.
He’s got me literally in his clutches. My body is primed after several nights fantasizing about him, so more than anything, I’m turned on.
What’s going to happen now?
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. He keeps his hand clamped on the back of my neck and guides me to a big booth in the far corner, by the window.
“Where are we going?”
“You’re eating with me in case those guys come back.”
Awww, he’s still protecting me. “Why do you care?”
“Maybe I’m a nice guy.”
I snort. “No, you’re not.” But, okay, I’ll play. I wanted to sit in a booth, and he’s apparently got the biggest one in the place, all to himself.
So I let him maneuver me but take the opportunity to sniff him.
He smells nice. Like… meat. Barbecue. Smoke.
Steak. Bacon. It’s a comforting smell. We should bottle it and sell it.
Papa’s a perfumer by trade—at least, that’s his official business.
He mostly deals with botanical essences, but if he could distill this guy’s scent, we’d make a mint.
Blondie settles me into the large circular booth and slides in after me, making me scoot deeper into the seat. There’s plenty of space, but I kind of like how he’s crowding me. Gives me tummy flutters. I wriggle my hips and press my thighs together to stuff down my excitement.
“How’d you score this booth if you’re sitting all by yourself?”
“Dolores likes me.”
The waitress strides by, slapping a menu down in front of me, and takes off without looking at us. I eye her retreating back. “Really?”
“No.”
I go to grab the menu, and he slips it out of reach before I can get it.
“Hey, that’s mine.” I glare at him, but he’s too busy reading the menu. “I want pancakes.”
“No. You eat too much sugar.”
WTF? How the heck does he know that?
Did he just admit to following me? I knew someone was tailing me on my tour of all the Panetteria Principessa locations.
“Okay, Dad,” I mutter.
He lowers the menu long enough to shake his head at me. I wonder if he’d prefer I call him Daddy. I file that idea away for later.
“I’m hungry,” I whine.
He raises his hand and catches Dolores’s eye, and holds up two fingers, then five, then five again. She nods, disappears into the kitchen, and returns mere minutes later to lay out seven plates of food in front of us.
“Wow. She does like you.” The tables around us are still waiting for their coffee.
He pushes a plate of bacon my way. “Eat up. You need protein.”
I dig in. He’s right, I probably should eat more than sugar-coated carbs for breakfast. I stuff my face and take the opportunity to study the man beside me. He’s slow and methodical but somehow inhales an entire plateful within two minutes.