Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
“Of course you have a motorcycle,” Cecilia sighed.
A sleek beast of a bike sat in a vast underground garage, its black body as shiny as a beetle’s shell. Her own eggplant-shaped reflection stared back at her with dismay.
Sloane handed her a shiny black helmet. In that flat robotic voice, he asked, “Is that an issue?”
Pulling the helmet onto her head, she muttered, “Not for you.” Because it makes you hotter.
Cecilia hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, but she didn’t feel even a little bit of the exhaustion that had clung to her when she peeled herself out of Sloane’s bed that afternoon.
It was impossible to feel tired when she was with her elf.
Now that she wasn’t quite as worried she’d end up chopped into little pieces and tossed into the Bay as merfolk food, it left a lot of room for feeling other things.
Like the thrill of his attention. Like how hot it was that he rode a motorcycle. Like how he made her danger sense ping off the damn charts.
She’d always known the messed up wiring in her brain would get her into trouble eventually. Now it’d gotten her onto the back of her stalker’s motorcycle.
Her heart jumped when Sloane stepped into her personal space. He was never far from her, but it melted something in her whenever he approached her in that slow, predatory way only to touch her so, so gently.
Logically, she knew she should put a stop to it unless she wanted to encourage the obsession he so clearly harbored, but she just… didn’t want to do that.
A part of her was pretty sure she should try to escape when they were out on their date.
It was the smart thing to do, and most of the reason she suggested it in the first place.
But when he stooped those stupidly broad shoulders to delicately latch the helmet’s clasp beneath her chin, all the smart parts of her brain shut down.
Cecilia stared at her own flushed reflection in his visor as he tested the fit of her helmet. The scent of leather and something richer filled the air when he brushed her hair over her shoulders. “This is a tactical disadvantage,” he intoned, rubbing the strands between his gloved fingers.
Tingles raced down from the top of her head to her fingertips, which was an objectively bizarre reaction to what was definitely not a compliment. “Do you think I should cut it?” she asked, a little breathless.
Sloane carefully laid the lock of hair over her shoulder. The tips of his claws lingered on the curve of her shoulder for a heartbeat before he reached up to gently pull the visor of her helmet down. “No,” he answered. “I like your tactical disadvantages. I can easily compensate for them.”
Gods, that shouldn’t have been as romantic as it came across.
Stomach swooping, she smoothed her hands down her pink leather jacket.
It was a lucky thing she’d chosen to wear a cute pair of tweed shorts with thigh-high socks.
If she’d been in one of her skirts or dresses, she would’ve ended up with only her panties and his clothing between them, which wouldn’t be ideal. Not ideal at all.
But a shame nonetheless, she thought as she watched Sloane swing his leg over the bike.
Incredibly glad to have her face hidden by the helmet, she gingerly placed her hands on his shoulders and settled onto the seat behind him.
It wasn’t the first time she’d hopped on the back of a man’s bike, but wrapping her arms around Sloane’s waist and pressing herself against him was a new experience.
He blazed with heat. It soaked through the thick layers of his definitely-not-date-appropriate-clothing to warm her all the way to her bones.
Cecilia tightened her arms around his waist experimentally, testing how they fit together.
Resting her chin on his shoulder, she noted, “You know, I brought that knife you gave me. Aren’t you afraid I could stab you in the kidney or something?”
Sloane didn’t start the bike right away. He sat rigidly on the seat, his fingers wrapped so tightly around the handlebars that she swore she could hear the leather squeak. This close to him, she thought she could hear something else, too: the strange, raspy rhythm of quick breaths through a filter.
“I’m not afraid of being stabbed,” he answered, knocking the kickstand back into position.
Compelled by the self-destructive idiot that was her libido, she dared to lower her arms a little, settling them right above his belt. “Why? Think I won’t?”
Sloane rolled his shoulders like he was working out a kink. “No. Because I wouldn’t care if you did.”
The bike’s engine roared to life. The sound bounced off the smooth concrete walls of the garage. It was almost as loud as the thundering beat of her heart as she attempted to process that casual declaration.
She squeezed her eyes shut as Sloane leaned forward and rocketed down the long concrete tunnel. The temperature dropped abruptly as a massive metal door pulled aside, revealing a nighttime landscape of coastal greenery.
Salty air whipped her hair back as her stomach landed somewhere in the garage and stayed there.
A wild burst of laughter escaped her when Sloane took a curve with a perfect lean.
The motorcycle’s headlights cast the road in a beam of warm light.
It glanced off ghostly trees and thick foliage as they slipped in and out of the forest. When they weren’t tucked beneath the boughs of ancient trees, they seemed to barely hang on to the edge of sandy cliffs.
Cecilia clung to him as she stared out over the ocean and the twinkling lights of the city beyond it.
Her blood rushed in her veins, full of life in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Maybe it was the near-death experience talking, but a reckless sort of joy bubbled through her with every smooth turn and shift of Sloane’s body against her own.
She didn’t know where they were going and that was probably a bad thing. Cecilia couldn’t make herself care. Her life was already so fucked up that she wanted to soak in as much joy as she could.
Especially if I escape tonight.
She didn’t want to think about that, though. Not just then.
Cecilia lost track of how long they rode.
She fell into the rhythm of the bike and Sloane’s confident movements.
She wasn’t even sure when she closed her eyes.
It wasn’t like the scenery was uninteresting, just that the flow of the road and Sloane’s warmth lulled her into a bone-deep comfort she couldn’t explain.
It came as something of a shock, then, when they slowed to a stop.
Her eyes opened to find that they’d pulled into a roadside eatery. Little more than a brightly lit shack with a window for ordering and another for pick-up, it was exactly the kind of place she loved.
Squeezing Sloane’s middle, she gasped, “Did you bring me to a burger joint?”
“I understand they sell burgers, yes,” he answered, pulling into the gravel ditch that passed as a parking area. Dropping his booted feet to the ground to keep them upright, he cut the engine — which was very odd, because she was fairly certain he was still rumbling.
Pressing her palms flat against his toned middle, she asked, “Are you vibrating?”
“It’s nothing.” Sloane deployed the kickstand and straightened up. Craning his neck to look back at her, he asked, “Does this qualify as a date?”
Sliding her visor up, Cecilia pretended to squint critically at the restaurant. When she was unable to keep up the act any longer, she cast him a wide smile. “A romantic coastal motorcycle ride and a pit stop at a greasy spoon? I’ve been on worse.”
“That’s sufficient. For now.” He nodded toward the ground, clearly encouraging her to hop off.
Her legs felt a little like jelly when she stood on her own two feet again, but she wasn’t entirely convinced it was because of the bike. Popping the helmet off, she shook out her hair with a huff.
Noticing Sloane was watching her — presumably, anyway, with his helmet pointed directly at her — she teased, “How does my helmet hair look?”
“Interesting.”
She snorted. “You’re a very honest man, Sloane.”
“I rarely have reason to lie,” he explained, throwing one leg over the bike. She always seemed to forget just how monstrously tall he was until he stood next to her again, that visor hiding his face and his shoulders all… shouldery.
Using an adjustment of her jacket as an excuse to hide the fact that she was absolutely checking out her stalker, Cecilia replied, “Well, keep it up. I’m not a good liar, so it’s nice to have someone who tells the truth as often as I do.”
Sloane tucked his hands behind his back and spread his legs a little, assuming what she recognized as his military stance. “Understood.”
Not sure if she was doing it sincerely or if she was trying to get him to let his guard down a little, she gave his chest a reassuring pat. “Relax, champ. We’re on a date, not a mission.”
His helmet titled to one side. “You are my mission.”
“I thought you wanted me to be your girlfriend.”
His shoulders straightened. “I do not.”
It didn’t make a damn lick of sense, but a spear of hurt pierced right through her gooey center. Cecilia flinched, her face heating with embarrassment and no small amount of confusion. Snatching her hand from his chest like he’d burned her, she breathed, “Oh. Got it.”
Before she could even begin to guess what he did want her to be, Sloane clarified, “I intend to be your mate.”
Suddenly all the heat in her face wasn’t from embarrassment at all. It was from a feeling that was a lot more dangerous.
“Oh,” she said again, more of a squeak this time. “That’s… huh.”
“I’m inexperienced,” he admitted, so flat and yet so honest. “I haven’t trained for this. You will have to explain the steps to me so I can properly complete them and meet your standards. But I will not fail.”
It was the strangest thing, having a conversation like this one on the side of a middle-of-nowhere road, touched by the glow of a burger joint’s fluorescent lights. She couldn’t even see his face or hear his real voice.
And he’s a killer, the tiny part of her brain that still cared about self-preservation reminded her. And a stalker. And probably, like, way worse.
It said something truly dire about her that even as those thoughts popped into her head, she could see the stars shining in her eyes reflecting back at her as she stared up at that dark visor.
“You sound awfully sure of yourself for a man who hasn’t even finished our first date yet,” she whispered.
“It’s easy to be sure about you, Cece.”
She rolled her lips between her teeth and bit down gently. He had no way of knowing how hard that would hit her, or how deep the words would sink into the mire of insecurities she’d carried all her life. As far as she could recall, the only person who’d ever chosen her was Dahlia.
Her parents were so wrapped up in their own misery that they never put her first. Every boyfriend she’d ever had inevitably shuttled her to the backburner sooner rather than later, believing her sunny disposition and easy to please nature meant they didn’t need to try.
And, even though it wasn’t fair to be hurt by it, Dahlia had left her, too.