Page 86 of The Alpha's Protective Mate

“No.” He grins, as if amused by my question. “This is a product my company makes. It will hide what you are. Whether you are a vampire or a shifter, it will conceal your scent altogether. It will help you pass as human.”

I stare down at the bracelet. “You’re telling me this little thing does all that? Is it magic?”

“Technology,” Robert chuckles. “It’s proprietary. My company is the only one in the world producing these. We’ve had requests from vampire buyers, but we don’t sell to them. Conflict of interest and all. We vet all our customers.”

“But it’s okay for me to have one?” I want to confirm.

“Yes,” Robert takes my hand in his and slips the bracelet onto my wrist. He then squeezes it, and it compresses, leaving only a small gap between it and my skin.

“How did you—?” I ask, awed, unable to finish my question.

“It shrinks to adjust to the wearer’s wrist,” he explains. “Wild, huh?”

I lift my hand, studying the bracelet. “It’s so bizarre that such a tiny thing can hold so much power. You designed this?”

“Yeah.”

I blink at him. “You must be really smart.”

I can see the smugness in his eyes as he tries to play it cool. “Maybe a little.”

“At least you’re modest,” I snicker. “That’s always a nice character trait to have.”

As I tuck everything in my bag, Robert protests, “I am modest.”

“I just said you are.” I’m enjoying having the upper hand for once.

“It doesn’t sound like you mean it,” he complains.

“That sounds like a you problem.” I press my lips together, trying not to smile.

I lock the door and begin pulling down the shutter. Robert gives me a helping hand by yanking it down easily. I give him an annoyed look. “I can do that myself, you know. I’m not that weak.”

He seems determined to get back at me for my earlier comment. “You’re pretty darn weak. Should I hold your bag for you? I don’t want you to fall down under its weight, after all.”

“Shut up, Robert.”

“Or maybe I should carry you altogether.” Without warning, he sweeps me off my feet and into his arms.

“Robert!” I yelp, outraged and pounding on his chest. “Let me down! People are staring!”

“I’m just being helpful,” he laughs. “See, I’m helping you cross the street.”

“You’re not funny!” I hide my face as passersby stare at us curiously. “Put me down, you— you—!”

I can’t even think of an insult appropriate enough for this moment.

He brings me all the way to the parking lot and opens the door of his car with one hand, then settles me inside. “There. See? Not a hair on your delicate head harmed.”

I glare at him. “Eat dirt.”

“What are you, five?” he sneers. “Is that the best you got?”

I slam the car door in his face.

Robert is one of those people who doesn’t mind being silly. There is no haughty arrogance in him. He’s beaming as he gets into the driver’s seat. “Alright, buckle up.”

We drive to his house, and Robert parks out front. But as we get out of the car, he comes over to me, takes my hand, and starts leading me directly away from the front door. I ask, “What’s going on? Where are you taking me?”

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