Chapter 10 #2
I frowned. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” he snapped. His arm swept out, motioning around the room. “Look at this place!”
I followed the gesture.
Sure. The coffee table was covered in half-assembled gadgets, the side tables lined with my old prototypes, and the entryway decorated with devices I hadn’t touched in years. All of it was harmless if you knew what you were doing.
Rack’s voice cut in again, sharper now.
“You leave half-finished weapons sitting out like its furniture. For her, a human, this place is a minefield!”
My jaw tightened as I took a second, longer look.
…Yeah. Okay. I see it.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, teeth pressing together as I exhaled. “You’re right. I didn’t think about that.”
It hadn’t even crossed my mind.
When I first moved in, I barely used the place. It was just somewhere to crash between the lab and FangTech. Then Aniyah had gotten involved, rearranging things, pulling out old projects and scattering them through the house in the name of “personality.”
I didn't care what she did as long as she didn't talk about dicks. There was just something about having your little baby sister getting all giddy about some large cock she saw, or describing the different kind she’d seen, that made me want to hide in a closet and never come out.
The shower upstairs shut off, and Rack and I froze. My eyes dropped to the eggs in my hand, then to the stove.
Shit.
I hadn’t even started cooking.
“Fuck,” I breathed, already moving.
Cabinet doors banged open one after another as I searched. “How long does it even take to cook these?”
I yanked one open. Nothing. Another. Still nothing.
“Ha!” I grabbed a pan and slapped it onto the stove before turning the knob up to high. Two eggs in hand, I turned them over once, shrugged, then put them straight into the pan.
They cracked as soon as they landed, and a sharp sizzle filled the space.
I grinned. Easy.
“You’re an idiot.”
Rack was moving before I could respond, crossing the space in two strides. He grabbed the pan off the burner and dumped it straight into the trash.
“What the hell—”
“You don’t leave the shells in,” he snapped, already reaching for a clean pan.
Shells? I stared at the trash. How the hell was I supposed to know that?
Ignoring me, Rack grabbed butter and dropped it into the pan. It melted with a soft hiss before he cracked the next eggs, clean and controlled, tossing the shells aside without a second glance.
I watched, armed folding as I leaned back. Apparently, eggs had rules.
A soft voice drifted down to us.
“What’s this?”
Our heads snapped up.
She lingered at the top of the stairs, damp strands of hair clinging to her neck and shoulders.
My sweats hung loose on her hips, the waistband folded once to keep them from slipping, and the shirt swallowed her frame whole.
The sleeves drooped past her elbows, stopping at her forearms, except for the gap where her tattoo peeked through.
A trail of dark roses curved along her skin.
My gaze caught there. Fingers twitched at my side, the urge to trace each petal sharp enough to make me shift where I stood. A grin pulled at my mouth before I could stop it.
Then I noticed what she was holding in those small hands.
A remote-controlled, matte-black humvee. One of my old inventions—a deadly one.
Behind me, a sharp sound cut through the quiet. Teeth grinding, I didn’t even have to look to know Rack had seen it too. Shit!
In a blink, I was in front of her. She flinched but didn’t jump away, so that meant progress.
I reached out, carefully taking the device from her hands.
“One of my old builds,” I said, turning it over. “Thought it’d be fun to make a miniature strike unit.”
Her gaze stayed locked on it, curious.
I found myself explaining anyway. “This section here?” I pointed to the back. “Gas chamber. It releases a targeted hallucinogen. And up here,” I tapped the top, “magic-seeking missiles.”
Definitely not something a human should be casually holding.
Behind me, I could practically feel Rack’s stare on my back, but I had to admit, he was right. I needed to clear this place out. Fast.
A faint scent hit me. My soap, my shampoo, clinging to her skin and hair.
My pulse spiked instantly. The grip on the humvee tightened. My thoughts took a sharp left turn I had no business following right now.
Her voice cut through my thoughts.
“You know…” she said slowly, leaning in, pointing underneath the small vehicle, “if you adjusted the suspension here and swapped out the shocks and struts, you could run it on uneven terrain. Wouldn’t need roads.”
I turned the device, following her line of thought, and… she was right.
A few tweaks, and this could be better suited for stealth than direct assault. My mind was already running through several different modifications.
My gaze flicked back up to her, and something shifted as I saw her in a different light. This time, she wasn’t just the girl from last night, not just the chaos in my bed, but someone who saw the same things I did… just from a different angle.
Thinking back to Manshu’s car and how he’d won a race he had no business winning, it all clicked.
It was her. She was the reason he won.
She’d tuned his car to match his shitty way of driving it for maximum leverage. She didn't just think about the machine; she thought about the driver too.
My pulse kicked up for an entirely different reason.
I bolted to my room, dropped the mini car back in place, then grabbed her hand and dragged her with me as fast as her human legs could handle.
Once we hit the bottom, I pointed to another gadget, explained what it did, and asked how she’d improve it. Then another. And another.
Each time, I tossed something new at her, gadgets, scraps, half-finished concepts, and every time she met it head-on, twisting it, reshaping it, seeing angles I hadn’t considered.
We moved around the space without thinking, back and forth between tables, shelves, counters. Her voice picked up speed, hands starting to move as she explained, pointing, adjusting, building ideas out loud.
A loud clack broke through our conversation and we both turned.
Rack stood by the counter, a plate now sitting in front of him, jaw tight, shoulders squared.
She straightened instantly, her hand dropping from the device she’d been holding. Her fingers brushed her damp hair back behind her ear as she stepped forward, putting her hand out tentatively for a hand shake.
“Hi, I’m—”
“Olivia Savin.”
Rack didn’t move as he said it. His voice landed flat, precise.
“You work at Alto’s Body Shop. Recently joined Manshu Covin’s pit team.”
Her steps stopped, hand slowly lowering. The softness in her expression tightened, her mouth pulling into something sharper as she looked at him.
Behind him, I dragged a hand over my face.
Really, bro?
Rack stood there, posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back like he was delivering a report instead of talking to a guest.
The air between them stretched. Neither moved a muscle.
After a few seconds, his gaze shifted, briefly, to the plate on the counter, then back to her. A silent instruction.
Sit. Eat. Dismissed.
I clenched my jaw, trying to speak to him with my mind. What the hell, man? Are you trying to ruin this for me?
Her stomach let out a small, traitorous growl, and her cheeks flushed. So cute.
“Come on,” I said, softening my tone. “Eat. You’ll need the energy, right?”
She hesitated, then nodded, stepping forward slowly. Her finger pointed toward the plate.
“Do you… have a fork?”
Rack turned without a word, pulling open a drawer beside him. He grabbed one and set it down for her, so she sat.
Trying to make up for Rack’s curt behavior, I moved to the fridge and opened it. “Want something to drink?”
She looked up and froze. Her eyes locked onto the shelves without blinking. Her throat moved in a hard swallow before she shook her head quickly.
To the side of me, Rack grumbled, “Fucking hell, Cal,” under his breath and looked away.
I followed her gaze.
Blood bags. Rows of them. All human.
“Fuck,” I snapped, slamming the fridge shut.
A beat of silence followed, and I wanted to shoot myself in the head. Why is having a human over so hard?!
“Water,” she said quickly. “Do you have water?”
“Yeah—yeah, of course.” I glanced at Rack. He gave a stiff nod. “We’ve got plenty of water.”
I zoomed across the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and zoomed back to her.
Water. Right. I looked around. And where the hell was it?
My gaze drifted toward the sink, and I took a step in that direction, already reaching for the faucet, but Rack let out a sharp breath.
Before I could turn it on, he flicked his hand.
A bottle lifted clean off the shelf behind me, gliding through the air in a smooth arc before landing square in my palm.
I paused, then glanced at him.
“…Right. That works.”
When I looked back at her, her attention hadn’t left him. Her eyes followed the path the bottle had taken, widening just a fraction, something quiet and curious settling in her expression.
Something in my chest twisted.
I moved before I thought too much about it, sliding the bottle across the counter toward her.
“Here.”
She took it, fingers brushing the plastic before twisting it open. A few quick gulps followed, her shoulders loosening slightly as she drank.
Silence settled over the room, the only sounds coming from the faint clink of utensils and the quiet scrape of her fork as she gathered the last bite from the plate.
Then she set it down.
“I should get going.” Her gaze dropped to the oversized sweats and shirt, then lifted back to me with a hesitant smile. “Since you destroyed my pants, I’m calling this a fair trade.”
All I could do was nod. I wanted her to keep them, wear them, and think of me every time she did.
“Your boots are by the door.” I motioned in its direction. “I made sure they survived.”
Her eyes sparkled at me for a second as she murmured her thanks before sliding off the stool and turning toward Rack. She gestured to the empty plate.
“And… thank you. For the food.”
Rack gave a short nod, nothing more.
It took everything in me not to cut in. To explain that I had tried to make them first, that it had been my idea, but instead I moved fast.
Rounding the island, I caught her hand, not wanting our time together to end so soon. “I’ll take you back.”
I barely made it a few steps before Rack’s voice cut in.
“Did you forget your meeting in ten minutes? The family one?”
The shift was immediate. Her hand stiffened in mine, the easy tension from before replaced with something sharper. Her smile slipped as reality snapped back into place with the reminder of who I was and what I came with.
I clenched my jaw.
“I’ll take her,” Rack continued, already moving. “You know how she gets if you miss a meeting.”
I dragged a hand over my face, frustration boiling up sharp and useless, but he wasn’t wrong.
“It’s okay,” she said softly, patting my hand before slipping free.
The moment she let go, the warmth disappeared, leaving something colder in its place.
“I’m sorry,” I said anyway, then realized I didn't have her number.
In a blur, I crossed the space to Rack, plucked the pen from his pocket, and was back in front of her before she could react.
“Hold still.”
I lifted her arm, steadying it with one hand while I scribbled across her skin.
“There.”
I stepped back, eyeing the numbers against her wrist, and that possessive, ugly monster deep inside of me purred, Mine.
Her brows pulled together as she looked down at it, then back up at me, confusion flickering across her face.
Did she really think this ended here? Not a chance.
I winked just as Rack stepped past us, pulling the door open. “This way, Miss.”
She hesitated, then started forward.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I watched her go, the urge to stop her sitting heavy in my chest.
“I hope I didn’t disappoint you,” I called out, wanting her attention again.
She turned sharply, and I grinned.
“First supe and all.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed just as fast. Whirling away from me, she jammed her feet into her boots before bolting out the door and slamming it behind her, but not before I caught it.
That flash of color in her cheeks. The tiny betrayal of a reaction she couldn’t quite hide.
I leaned back, my grin lingering.
Yeah. She felt it too.
And I couldn’t wait to see her again.