Page 15 of Roman

Roman’s demon had wanted to rip the man’s arm off, and Roman suddenly wished he had let it.

He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to remain calm. “Gabe?”

“My brother,” Danny replied, tossing his wallet and keys on a side table. “You saw him earlier, at the hospital. He’s a doctor there.”

Ah. Roman and his demon both settled. A brother.

“So that’s one myth debunked.”

He turned to look at Danny, who was giving him a small, cheeky grin. Roman raised an eyebrow in question.

The boy smirked at him. “I didn’t need to invite you in.”

Roman gave a startled laugh. So their entry had been a test? “No, no formal invitation necessary. Although, for politeness’s sake, I do try to make sure I am welcome before entering someone else’s home.”

“Mm-hmm.” Danny looked skeptical.

Roman stalked closer to the boy, unable to keep his distance. Danny tensed slightly as Roman leaned in, but didn’t back away. Roman breathed in, ignoring the way his cock twitched at the boy’s scent—there was no smell of fear. “You’re not afraid of me.”

It wasn’t a question, but Danny answered anyway. “No.”

Roman tried not to be pleased at the answer. “You are entirely too trusting of strange men,” he warned.

Would this boy let just anyone into his house? Did he know what a monster he’d just allowed to waltz into his home?

“I’m really not though,” Danny said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Just with you. Isn’t that funny?” But Danny wasn’t laughing, only peering at Roman with that direct, no-nonsense look he seemed to specialize in. Then the boy shrugged, breaking his gaze. “Anyway, I need a shower. I always want one after a shift, but I especially need one now—I’ve got gross mugger germs all over me.”

Would Danny ask him to leave, then? Roman wanted to stay. Heneededto stay. “I’ll make you some food,” he offered.

Danny raised his eyebrows at him. “You can cook? Why? Do you even eat human food?”

Roman was already heading toward what he thought looked like the kitchen. “I do not need to, but I can. Besides, I am French. I would be a traitor to my nation if I did not know how to cook.”

No laugh at that. He waited to be told to leave, but all he heard was the sound of Danny heading up the stairs.

The boy’s pantry was a disgrace, same with the fridge. There was hardly any fresh food of any real substance stocked. Someone hadnotbeen taking care of himself properly. Roman found mostly an assortment of packaged meals in the freezer—horrible—and some sugary cereal—disgusting—but at least there were a few eggs and a loaf of bread.

Eggs and toast it would be, then.

He was plating the scrambled eggs and just starting to worry that Danny had fallen asleep in the shower, when he heard the soft patter of feet coming down the stairs.

Roman turned toward the entryway into the kitchen and barely kept in his demon’s low growl at the sight that appeared in front of him.

Danny looked simplydelicious, and not as something to eat. His hair was damp and sticking out adorably every which way, the boy apparently too exhausted to bother with combing it. He was wearing soft-looking pajama bottoms and a thin T-shirt, barely holding his tired eyes open.

Something about the open vulnerability of it all had Roman’s cock hardening.

He really was a predator.

He wanted to tackle the boy, lick him everywhere, rub his own scent all over Danny’s body.

Roman wanted toclaimhim.

But taking care of him needed to come first. Roman didn’t let himself think about why he felt that way. The boy needed to eat, and he needed to sleep.

He set the plate of eggs and toast in front of Danny as the boy sat down at the kitchen counter. Danny gave him a grateful smile and a soft thank-you before focusing on his food, letting out an appreciative hum at the first bite.

After a few minutes with nothing but the sound of chewing, Danny broke the silence, eyes still on his plate. “You’re staring,” he whispered.

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