Chapter 7
Bastian took a deep breath, trying to clear Eleanor’s scent from his nostrils. He’d forgotten himself for a moment. Throwing her over his shoulder had been the worst idea. And punishing her with a slap to her ass? What the hell had he been thinking?
He hadn’t.
Because something about her scrambled his thoughts.
Made all his critical thinking fly right out the window.
Fuck.
Thankfully, the guest bedroom was on the first floor, which put plenty of space between them.
Even if he had a feeling that being on opposite sides of the same house wasn’t nearly enough distance.
“There’s an extra toothbrush and…other things in the bathroom,” he found himself saying. “You should have everything you need.”
She glanced down at herself. “What about PJs?”
“PJs?”
“I certainly hope you don’t expect me to sleep in this.” Her eyes glinted with mischief, voice turning breathy as she added, “Then again, I could sleep naked…”
He took a large step back. “Just 'cause I said you were cute, sugar, doesn't mean I want you throwing yourself at me.” The words came out sharper than necessary.
She reared back. “You think I'm hitting on you? Don't flatter yourself, goblin. I don't do fuckboys." Then she sashayed past him into the room and turned, regarding him. She might have been shorter, and yet, it still felt like she was looking down her nose at him.
He bristled, but didn’t bother defending himself. Yes, he enjoyed one-night-stands. But his partners always understood what they were getting into. No strings. No repeats.
He didn’t do relationships.
“I’ll get you something to wear,” he bit out, turning on his heel and disappearing. The moment there was space between them, he felt like he could breathe again. His mind got sharper, making him realize just how careless he’d been. He had a job to do and didn't need her distracting him.
Easier said than done.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he swept into his room.
He rifled through his drawers and grabbed a pair of lounge pants, then hesitated and dropped them back inside.
Instead, he settled on one of his favorite T-shirts.
It had nothing to do with him wanting to see her in it, and only it. Nothing at all.
He just wanted her comfortable. Comfortable at the end of a long night. His shoulders dropped at the realization. She'd been through a lot this evening. Learning that someone she cared for was now dead. Working a long shift. Getting assaulted in an alley afterward.
The male he’d stabbed had broken her fucking wrist. He’d hurt her. That alone left his blood boiling. He fought the sudden urge to go back to Vortex. To track the fucker down and make him pay—really pay.
He took a deep, steadying breath.
Because the thought of leaving Eleanor alone in his house left his throat dry. No, he wouldn’t do that. Not when she was in a new place.
He turned and left, heading back downstairs.
She wasn’t where he’d left her, standing in the middle of the room.
Instead, she was snooping, inspecting her surroundings.
"Here," he said, announcing himself. He tossed the T-shirt in her direction.
She caught it and frowned down at it. “Problem, sugar? "
"Just surprised you didn't give me a potato sack."
He shrugged. "Fresh out."
Without another word, he retreated back to his room.
Sleep was nearly impossible. All he could think about was her downstairs wearing his shirt—his fucking shirt—snuggled up in bed. The insult she’d lobbed at him earlier kept replaying in his head—annoyingly. It made him wonder what kind of partners she did enjoy.
To distract himself, he forced himself to go through the information she’d given him. He’d been surprised to hear she’d been a master’s student at WU. That she’d given that up. There was a story there, he was certain. But she hadn’t been willing to share it, even if he’d wanted to pry it from her.
But he recognized the need to dial it back. If only for tonight. Tomorrow was another day.
He didn’t plan on releasing her until he’d wrung every secret from her. Until he’d discovered her deepest, darkest thoughts. Until he’d tasted her lips, perhaps even licked her cunt…
“Fuck!” he cursed, rolling over and punching his fucking pillow.
No female should’ve had this kind of effect on him.
He’d known of her existence a mere three days, run background checks, infiltrated her life to try and track her down, to get information. He’d only set eyes upon her today. That’s all it had taken for this little female to burrow right under his skin.
Mother fucking fuck.
No. He wasn’t doing this. Instead, he formulated a plan for the morning, then forced himself to stop thinking about her, to stop thinking about how he'd be so much happier if he went downstairs, lifted her sleeping body into his arms, and carried her up to his bed. Like a prize. Like she belonged to him.
He bolted upright and kicked the sheets away, getting to his feet.
A growl rumbled in his chest as he started pacing, muscles coiled tight.
This wouldn't do. His glamor flickered, then fell away entirely.
His frame expanded, shoulders broadening, magic crackling under his skin.
Only, his goblin form offered no relief.
It just made him more possessive, more dangerous, until his breathing turned ragged.
“Get the fuck ahold of yourself,” he commanded.
His hand hovered over the doorknob when he literally forced himself backwards, despite every instinct screaming at him to go to her.
Clenching his teeth, he made tight fists until his claws broke through the skin of his palms, blood dripping onto the floor.
The pain helped him focus, helped him push down the urge and wrestle his magic under control.
His glamor settled over him like a second skin.
Then he took himself back into bed, where sleep found him.