Page 23 of Black Bird

The other thing she was keenly aware of is, that this man that she was holding onto … this cop that she hadn’t realized was a cop when he caught her eye in that bar—something was reeling her in about him as if she were a helpless fish on a hook. Sarah wondered if the look she saw in his eyes when he stared into her meant the same thing where he was concerned, or if maybe he was just your average asshole that couldn’t leave women alone. Maybe she was just his flavor of the week. It sure didn’t feel that way. She couldn’t help but notice how strangely normal it felt when she’d touched his body. How a chill went down her spine when the only thing he’d done was strap a helmet to her head. Maybe he was only doing his job as a protector of the people when he pushed to get her out of that hospital … but even that felt … personal.

They were stopped at a light when she’d realized they were no more than a block away from the art gallery where her apartment sat above it. She realized then that she hadn’t given him an address or told him where to go. Strangely, it didn’t make her feel some type of way. Maybe he’d already known because he has a trove of information about her anyway. It wasn’t like her address wasn’t on her driver’s license, but he did seem a bit too familiar with the route to her house. Sarah leaned over his shoulder.

“You stalking me, detective?” She smirked. Kane’s helmet tipped to the side, and he didn’t say a word. She wished she could see his expression through that damn blackout visor over his face. The light turned green, and she held on while he moved forward. He seemed like he had been extra careful not to jostle her around on the back of his motorcycle, but Sarah had to admit that she’d thought very little about her stiff muscles or the wound on her neck throughout the ride to her place. She’d never tell him she was grateful for this distraction. A few minutes later they pulled up and he parked the bike on the side of the street outside the gallery.

Athan couldn’t explain how protective he felt over this girl. He knew a big reason was because a part of him had been left behind when he’d—how had Rhaena put it?Sank his fangs into her.However true that may be, the unexplainable bit was the way her mere presence had seemed to sing to him in that bar. Maybe fate had its own way of finding him the exact victim he’d drain on the nights that he tried so hard to resist killing. That would have been an easy excuse, had that been the case the few hundred other times he’d taken a life.

Every time he’d looked into her eyes since they first met, something inside him felt like it was cracking an eye open. Like some deeply rooted part of him was awakening. He couldn’t get over it. It would be another thing he’d have to fight off. Especially, when the feel of her arms wrapping tightly around his middle stirred something else entirely. He hated being touched. Even before Dahlia had forced him to lay overher and do unspeakable things, he’d hated it. He never allowed any of his clients to touch him while he gave them the kind of intimacy only money could buy—and that was over two hundred years ago, before she’d found him that night and posed as that lonely girl who had been starved for affection. He blocked out the Devil’s face and honed in on the fact that in this particular moment … having Sarah’s arms around him left him craving any other touch she’d allow him. He found himself hungering for it as much as he’d needed to taste her blood.

What the hell was happening to him?

She broke his deep train of thought when they sat at a stoplight just up the street from her apartment and she asked if he was stalking her. He hadn’t even realized he’d let on that he knew the way to her place. He didn’t have any words to answer when he turned his face toward her and found her pale complexion perched over his shoulder. That smile. Thosefuckingeyes. It was a mercy that the light turned green. She had held on a little tighter when he sped forward, weaving through the traffic ahead of them. It was obvious this wasn’t her first time on a bike. He could tell it by the way her body moved against his back every time he maneuvered around cars or made turns on the street. Wren had adamantly refused to get on the bike, not that he could take the both of them on it anyway, but Sarah didn’t flinch at the thought. If he’d been smart, he would have hailed them a cab and kept his distance like Rhaena had warned. But all his good sense had taken flight the minute he snapped that helmet onto her head and felt the warmth of her perfect body against his. He was genuinely screwed. He should have never listened to that tug that had him looking back at her. Now he was in her web—and he knew it. Knew it … and didn’t give ashit.

He stopped them in front of the art gallery in a scenic part of town and admired how the autumn sunlight broke through the turning leaves of the massive oaks lining the street. He lowered the stand and eased off the bike, sliding his helmet off and sitting it down while he offered a hand to help Sarah. Athan tried not to acknowledge the intruding thoughts as her hand gripped his and she swiveled herself down. She stood facing him. Close—too close. The light chill in the wind shoved her scent straight up his nose. Any longer and he’d be high on it. Athan stepped back and her mouth turned up in the corner.

“You’re not really a people person, are you?” Sarah smiled, digging her keys out of her jacket pocket. He reached into his own, pulling out his cigarettes and sliding one out with his teeth. She eyed it like she could almost eat one. He smirked and turned the open end of the pack toward her. “Or maybe you are.” She huffed a laugh, plucking one out and raising it to her mouth. He fired up and kept his hand cupped around the flame while she leaned in and puffed a few times. Her eyes nearly rolled back she seemed so satisfied. It was all he could do not to wonder how many other ways he could make her do that.

“Have you not had another since the night I first saw you?” he asked, blowing a stream of smoke in the other direction.

“Nope.” He leaned against a light post and stared at the beauty of how Boston thrived during the day. He could feel her eyes on him. “You don’t have to stay. She won’t be long.” Athan returned his attention to her.

“Do you want me to?” Too late to rethink that question. There was a long pause while they both took drags off their cigarettes.

“Honest answer?” Sarah asked, looking earnestly at him. His knees felt weak.

“I’d prefer it,” Athan replied, not breaking their gaze.

“Yeah … I do.”

Another awkwardly silent pause. Athan gestured toward the door at the corner of the gallery, and she started walking toward it. He followed behind her, burning through the remnants of his smoke while she unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal a narrow set of steps up to another door. He stayed close and told himself that it was just in case she had another “lightheaded” moment, his hand resting on the gun at his hip. They stepped through the second door at the top of the stairs, and she closed it behind them as he entered. As if he needed any more reasons to keep his self-control in check.

Sarah’s studio apartment reminded him a lot of his own bedroom. Bookshelves filled with everything from old decorative tomes to study material lined the walls in her living area. A bed with black silk sheets and a tattered blanket that seemed like it didn’t belong, was tucked into the corner near the window with a sitting nook that looked out over the street where he was parked. A small kitchen area was to the right of where he stood and the whole place had a dark, but comfortable feel to it.

“It’s not much, I know. But, for now, it’s home.” Sarah seemed inclined to explain it away as if it were something to be ashamed of. His eyes caught a framed poster on the wall next to her bed of some art print with Edgar Allan Poe’s,“The Raven”scripted over it in its entirety. His mind flashed to the night he’d checked her pulse, the tattoo on her wrist that he now shared with her—although she hadn’t known it. Athan cleared his throat.

“You’re a Poe fan?” he croaked, banishing the memory and nodding toward the poster.

“It’s my favorite.” Sarah smiled, stepping into the kitchen and rinsing out a coffee pot. “Coffee?” she offered, not looking back at him. He stood still and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Sure.”

She made herself busy with that, all the while keeping her cigarette in her mouth and puffing on it throughout the time it took her to scoop grounds from a container on her small countertop. “One way you can always tell I’m home …” She started filling the back of the coffee maker with water. “… Is if this pot is on.” Athan smirked, turning his face to watch her.

“Bit of a junkie?”

“In every sense of the word,” she answered, pressing the button and taking two mugs out of the small cabinet above the stove. “The coffee at the hospital was fucking atrocious.” She turned around and leaned backagainst the counter, smoking the last of the cigarette and stubbing it out in a small ashtray on the corner. “So, detective …” Athan glanced at her. “Why do you and your partner think EverLife wanted my lab reports?”

“We’re not really sure about that. There’s a few missing pieces here. Do you have anything you could add?” Sarah’s lips pursed and she unzipped her jacket, sliding it off her shoulders as she walked to a small bathroom between her bed and the kitchen area. She left the door open and flipped the light on, leaning into the mirror and picking at her bandage. “I don’t know if you should take that off, yet. Do you have more?” He fought off the urge to step any further into the apartment. She looked at him through the mirror and smirked.

“I didn’t leave that shithole to have more people hovering over me.” The sound of the bandage peeling off of her skin was nothing compared to the groan of satisfaction that came out of her. She rubbed the irritated square of adhesive residue and pulled out cotton balls and rubbing alcohol to clean it up.

“Suit yourself.”

Her face shot toward him and the anger that flashed in her eyes was nothing short of explosive. “Don’t ever say that to me again.” He recognized the growl in her voice when she said it. It was his. Athan lifted his shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that was a thing.”

She trembled a little and he felt a stab of regret as he glanced at her wound. He was the reason she was starting to crumble. “I’m sorry … you’re right.” She eased up and turned back toward the mirror, dabbing around the spot. “That was the last thing Brent said to me before he left the club that night. Acted like a little prick because I chose not to leave with him.”

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