Page 87 of Roaring Flames

Did he sense my arousal?

Smell it like they do in books?

God, I may just die.

“You fear us. Fear the supernatural world.”

I open my mouth to deny it but instantly snap it closed. His question lingers.

Do I fear them?

I didn’t think I did, but now I’m looking at everything in a whole new light.

“We’re not all beasts,” Christian says softly, then his gaze hardens. “Most of us aren’t.”

I wonder if he’s thinking of the monster from the alleyway.

“Do you know what that was? The thing that attacked those men?” I ask.

“I don’t,” Christian confesses, and he seems annoyed with the fact. He reminds me of Ansel in a lot of ways—there’s not a lot he doesn’t know. “But I can ask around. Do some digging. You haven’t seen it since that night?”

“No.” I shake my head.

I definitely would’ve noticed something like that.

“It could’ve just been a coincidence.” Christian doesn’t sound convinced by his own words. He absently scratches at the stubble on his jawline, dark enough to shadow his face. “But no more late-night walks for you.”

His tone turns firm. Commanding.

A shiver works its way through me.

“Yes, sir,” I say, only half sarcastic.

His eyes blaze amber, his nostrils flaring, before he immediately lowers his attention back to the desk. Back to the crack running through the wood. He takes a deep breath.

“You have to know that there’s no reason to fear us, Izzy. We may be different from you, but we’re not evil. We have families. Jobs. Goals.” He lifts his head and pierces me with a stare—a stare I feel all the way to the hollow of my bones, burrowing its way inside of me. I don’t respond to his statement, but he continues on anyway. “Why don’t you attend a barbecue we’re having this weekend?”

His words shock me into silence. It takes me a solid ten seconds to regain the function of my brain cells.

“What?”

“A bunch of packs are meeting up and having a barbecue,” Christian says. A tiny smirk dances on his lips—probably in response to my incredulity. “I think you should come. Introduce yourself. Talk to the packs. See that we’re not so different from you.”

“I…um…” I want to say no. With everything going on, this doesn’t seem like the time to have a damn party.

But isn’t Christian right? Shouldn’t I give this world a chance? I’m a part of it, after all, and the longer I bury my head in the sand, the sooner I’ll suffocate.

So instead of saying no, I blurt out, “You have a pack?”

Christian’s expression hardens. Turns unreadable. “No.”

“No?”

Didn’t he mention something about that before? I rack my brain.

“No,” he repeats with a decisive head shake.

I want to ask a follow-up question, but one glance into his steely-blue eyes stops me.

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