Chapter 3 #2
My mouth goes a little dry as I attempt to take a step closer.
I want to see him better now that it’s daytime and we’re outside, but I’m terrified I’m going to make noise and won’t realize it.
My shoes sink into the soft grass, and I grasp a headstone, dropping down to my knees so I’ll be able to hide if he looks over at me.
For now, luckily, he doesn’t, and I’m awarded a full view of him.
God, he looks so strangely angelic here, lying on top of an old grave.
In the misty afternoon light, I can see his hair has strawberry blond highlights, and it sits in loose curls over his forehead.
His scar is more visible here too—a pale pink, jagged, and unkind.
I can’t help but wonder what caused it, but it doesn’t take much for me to imagine, considering how dangerous he and his brothers all seem. I creep a little closer and watch his breathing a little more. It’s odd that he’s just…lying here, and it makes a surge of anxiety rise up along my spine.
What if this is some kind of medical emergency? Maybe he really is a vampire and was looking for fresh blood but couldn’t find it among the corpses?
I stifle a donkey laugh. God, what is wrong with me?
Why am I catastrophizing a man who is very clearly just taking a comfortable nap in…well…a cemetery? Okay, it’s not normal, but sadly, it’s also not the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.
As I sit there, he continues to doze, and now I have no idea what the fuck to do. I can’t keep staring at him until he wakes up, can I? I mean, there’s creepy, and then there’s creepy. I have a feeling a guy like him will appreciate the former and not the latter.
My knees pop as I stand, but if they make a loud noise, he doesn’t seem to react to it.
There’s not even a twitch in his face. Glancing to my right, I see a massive willow, branches fluttering in the light breeze, so I head over and lean against the trunk.
It gives me a decent view of him while also maybe offering me some kind of excuse as to why I’m here other than to watch him.
God, this would be easier if I had a book, but I don’t even have my phone on me. It’s still sitting in the cup holder in my car.
Fuck, I have no idea what I’m doing—what I’m going to do when he wakes up. If he wakes up before I have to rush back to campus for my final class of the evening.
I settle in with one knee pulled to my chest, at the perfect angle to stare at him, and something in my chest twists.
He really is terrifyingly beautiful.
Like the night I saw him, he’s in dark clothes—deep blue jeans, black boots, a button-up shirt that hugs him in all the right places. He has one foot crossed over the other like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
And hell, maybe he doesn’t.
What must that be like?
I take a breath and debate about making a noise so I can rouse him, but before I can, his eyes fly open.
I freeze. Shit…am I caught?
A second later, he’s on his feet and running, but not toward me.
He moves like a fucking tiger, with a skill and grace that should be terrifying.
I watch, breath screaming in my lungs to be released, as he darts around headstones, and then, just before he takes a leap past the tree line, I see a small, dark, furry body jump first.
Arhe follows with his arms out, and when he stands back up, he has a very clearly pissed-off tuxedo cat by the scruff. He swipes his hand across his brow, and I realize he’s bleeding from the forehead.
I have no idea what to do. I’m frozen to this tree as I watch him stride with purpose toward the church. The blood streaming down his face makes me feel another pulse of panic. He could have a fucking concussion. Or worse.
Rabies.
I don’t know why that gives me the courage to move, but I find myself jumping to my feet and hurrying toward him as he makes his way around the building.
Shit. I don’t see him again. It’s not until I’m on the back side of the church parking lot that I catch him leaning over the bed of a very small pickup truck parked a few spaces away from my car.
My feet must make enough noise on the ground this time because his head darts up, and his eyes narrow, finally locking on me.
I freeze, like a rabbit being tracked by a predator.
The expression of fury on his face changes to one of recognition. It doesn’t quite soften, and he sure as hell doesn’t smile, but something flares in his eyes. My heart beats so hard I wonder if he can hear it from this far away.
Swallowing heavily, I force my legs to move again, and he watches me, his hands now free from the cat.
Digging into my pocket, I yank out my CI charging case and flip the lid. They automatically turn on, and the moment I slap the first one against the magnet on the right side, my whole world wobbles as sound rushes through my head.
I’m used to it though, so I don’t falter as I put on the second, securing the processors over my ears before shoving the case back into my jeans.
He hasn’t taken his eyes off me the entire time, and I feel so seen, which is a bizarre feeling for someone who performs on weekends.
But there’s something different about the way he watches me.
Something almost…hungry.
I’m near him now, just a few feet away, and though he hasn’t stopped staring at me, there’s uncertainty in his eyes. His expression is still blank though, and with the blood still dribbling sluggishly from above his eyebrow, he looks dangerous as hell.
I take a breath, then point. “You’re bleeding.”
He seems startled by the sound of my voice.
My accent isn’t as thick as some of my other friends’.
I’ve been Deaf since I was three and a CI user since I was five, though I went without them for almost all of college.
But my parents wouldn’t let up on speech therapy, and I was dragged to sessions once a week until I was a legal adult and could finally refuse.
But maybe it’s not my accent. Maybe he’s startled by the fact that I’m speaking at all.
He huffs, then says in a very low, very gruff voice that is so hard to understand I have to read his lips, “I know.”
“Would you mind if…” I hesitate, and he cocks a brow up. “Do you have a first aid kit?” When he frowns in confusion, I point to his head. “You’re bleeding.”
He shakes his head very, very slowly. Then, he lifts the edge of his shirt up and wipes his face clean.
I look at his exposed stomach, and god. He has abs. Lots of them. I knew it. And with shoulders like that…
Good fuck.
“Oh my god, you’re going to get tetanus,” I say, snapping back to reality. “Or rabies.”
He lifts a brow again, then shrugs once more, not saying another word.
‘Do you prefer sign?’ I ask.
He lifts his hands, which are filthy from the mud he dove into. ‘Sometimes.’
‘Now?’
His head tilts to the side, and then he suddenly takes several steps toward me. I feel a rush of fear. It really is like being confronted by a fucking tiger. I back up until I hit something, and…
Oh. It’s the church wall.
My breath feels stuck in my lungs, a swallow trapped halfway down my throat.
I want to raise my hands and ask him what he’s doing, but they won’t move.
Instead, all I can hear is a strange, almost rattling noise, and it takes me a second to realize it’s coming from me.
From my chest. I might be hyperventilating.
Arhe stops just short of touching me, but I can feel the warmth radiating off him. “What are you doing here?” Now that he’s close enough, I can make out the more subtle parts of his rumbling voice, and it’s just as gorgeous as the rest of him.
“I…” My finger touches my chest, but it doesn’t do anything else. It feels wrong to say I was following him, even though I was. It doesn’t seem right to admit that I was hunting him down, mostly because I feel like his prey now.
His hand lifts, and he hovers his fingers near my face. It takes a second, but eventually, I realize he’s not quite touching the spot where he’d wiped blood off me before.
“Little rabbit,” he murmurs, and my dick kicks in my jeans. “Are you scared?”
“No.”
He doesn’t laugh or mock my obvious lie, but I can tell he knows it’s not the truth. His head tilts to the side again, and then he leans in and takes a deep breath of the space between my shoulder and neck. His skin still isn’t touching mine, but god, I wish it would.
Arhe bites his lip, then presses one hand beside my head, fingers scraping the wall in a way I can hear it. My CIs aren’t perfect, but this close, they pick up the sound.
Normally, I don’t give a shit about hearing, but being able to know the sound of his huffing breath and the small grunt he makes when he scrapes the heel of his palm on the brick—somehow, I feel like I don’t want to live without that if I have a choice. And right now, I choose everything about him.
He looks down, and I know he’s looking at where my dick has come untucked and I’m tenting my pants, and then he looks up at me. “You’re hard.”
Oh god. He’s just going to say it? Just like that? Fuck me.
“Observant.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but there are no laugh lines, like he doesn’t smile much. Or ever. “That’s the point.”
What does that mean? Fucking hell. I lick my lips, and his eyes track the movement. Once again, like I’m prey.
“Why are you here, little rabbit?”
I have no idea what to say, so I offer him the truth. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to see you again.”
His eyes go wide for a second. “You found me here? How?”
“I…” Shit, I do not want to tell him about the cyberstalking. I swallow thickly. “It seemed like the right place to find you.”
Leaning in, he sniffs me again and lets out a low, delicious hum that vibrates through my head. “Clever little rabbit.”