Page 2 of Take

I didn’t want to repair. I couldn’t. Not if Drake was still alive.

I touched the white gauze bandage on my neck and trailed my finger over it, the stickiness of one corner of the upturned tape catching my skin. I pushed it back down, ignoring the tenderness as I pressed harder than necessary.

The hybrid vampire-witch Xamien had living in the attic had sunk her teeth into me yesterday and then picked me up, tossing me across the room as if I’d been a weightless plastic figurine. My body had slammed into the wall then crashed to the floor. I’d hit hard, leaving my side knitted with yellows and greens.

The new wound on my neck was just another scar to add to my collection. Reminders of why it was safer locked away. Every burn. Every mark Drake scored into me. It was him tormenting me. Never letting me go.

That was what he’d done to me. That was what woke me in the middle of the night screaming. He was the only thing I feared. Pain, death, torture . . . none of it frightened me anymore. But him and the power he had over me . . . he owned me and that fear I couldn’t bury because if he was alive, one day the monster would find me again.

My only hope was that no one discovered I was the little girl, the powerful Healer, who was killed in the fire along with her Talde ten years ago. It was my only chance to stay hidden from Drake.

I stood under the hot spray until the trembling stopped then turned off the taps and climbed out of the tub. As I reached for a towel on the hook, I heard footsteps on the hardwood floor outside the door. It was after midnight, and Xamien rarely had guests and if he did, he told me they were coming.

The steps stopped outside the bathroom door. I expected a knock and Xamien to ask if I was okay. Often he’d come check up on me if I woke in the night screaming; instead, the doorknob turned and the door swung open.

My breath hitched and I yanked the white towel up in front of me while I staggered back a few steps. A shiver brushed through me as the cool air from the open door hit my wet skin and the humid air dissipated.

I clutched the towel to my damp skin as I met the hard, grey eyes of a man I’d never seen before. The first thought that came into my head was panther—a deadly panther. Sleek and lean—his muscles defining every inch of him even through his clothing.

It was as if he was ready and eager to pounce on whatever prey he had in his sights. And at the moment, that was me. What softened his look were the lazy walnut curls that fell in disarray over his head and the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth as if he was . . . amused.

“Who are you?” Maybe I should’ve asked what the hell he was doing walking into my bathroom in the middle of the night, but I was more concerned as to who he was and what he was capable of. He had to be a Scar because Xamien rarely allowed anyone in his manor except Scars; however, recently, he allowed a vampire-witch to be incarcerated in the attic.

“Are you a Scar?” My shields around my thoughts to hide my abilities were pretty resilient, but it still made me uneasy meeting new Scars. This guy, with his cocky stance and arrogant expression, looked like he had an overabundance of confidence. I only hoped he didn’t have an ability to match.

“Sure am. But if you’d rather I be something else, I’m willing to play for a night.”

Oh, my God. What a dick. “You’re standing in my bathroom in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed.” His eyes boldly roamed down the length of my body, hesitated on my foot where my disfigured Ink tattoo lay, and then dragged back up to meet my eyes again. His expression remained composed and unconcerned as he casually leaned his shoulder up against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

“Can you please leave?” I attempted to keep my voice courteous like I always did, but there was grit to it this time and it echoed in the bathroom.

“A polite little thing, aren’t you,” he replied with a harsh baritone, which held a hint of Scot accompanied with the softening lilt of Irish.

My blood pumped faster through my veins as the sexy sound vibrated through me. The nightmare had obviously damaged my brain. “If you don’t leave, I’m calling Xamien.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “I don’t think you will.”

I glared. “Why not?”

“Because you like me.”

I snorted. “I don’t even know you. And I certainly don’t like strange men who come into my bathroom in the middle of the night.” The clip in my hair slipped out and fell to the floor, making a clink as it bounced off the ceramic tiles. My hair tumbled down my back and over my shoulders. His eyes watched the strands until they settled in place then his gaze slid over my skin to linger on my collarbone before dragging up the curve of my neck.

Goose bumps scattered across my moist skin as his eyes changed from a light charcoal grey to glistening black, like wet pavement in the night. It was utterly captivating . . . and I didn’t like it one bit.

Scars had much stronger emotions than humans, sometimes, so powerful, it was debilitating, but I’d never had my body react to a man this way. Not that I had much experience.

The muscles in his arms flexed and my eyes darted to the ink etched into his skin in an intricate pattern from his elbow upward to disappear beneath his plain black t-shirt. I peered closer trying to distinguish if it was his Ink, but it was nearly impossible to tell them from a regular tattoo. My only advantage was I had a connection with Inks. I studied his tattoo, searching for the familiar living being beneath—

“You see, you like me.”

My eyes shot back to his and an idle emotion rose inside me—anger. It clawed at my shield as he stood in the doorway as if it was his right to be there. “Are you done having your fun? I’d like to go back to bed.”

The corners of his lips curved upward and I caught a glimpse of his perfect white teeth. “Don’t think I’ll be done for a while.” The word done came out as a drawl that lingered in the air between us.

For years, I’d kept my emotions contained, yet within one minute, this guy was charging it like a wild boar. I had the urge to walk up to him, smack him in the face then slam the door on him. It was an urge that surprised me. I hadn’t thought of reacting to anyone in a long time. I was calm, patient and disconnected, but all of those were teetering on a tightrope. What I didn’t like was the strange whirl in my stomach as if I was nervous.

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