Page 11 of Wicked Beasts
“Hey!” I say as I speed up my pace to catch up to him.
He immediately turns, and the sight of me seems to surprise him, his expression faltering into momentary confusion. “Oh—hello.” Still, he greets me warmly.
My pulse quickens as his gaze meets mine. He towers over me, but I’m not intimidated by his stance. I know he must be very busy, but I’m determined to make at least small inroads to get to know him. Despite his size, he exudes gentleness and charm.
“Do you mind if I borrow this?” I ask, holding the Grimm’s Fairy Tales in my arms.
He briefly glances down as he shakes his head. “Please, help yourself to anything,” Tristan says with an added nod, as if he means to end the conversation, but I’m not ready for him to leave just yet.
I want to ask about the east wing, but at the same time, I’d rather not test my luck with him. I spend so little time with him as it is; I don’t think I’ve earned the right to ask about the house’s secrets just yet. The last thing I want to do is ruin it prematurely.
“So, thosebiochembooks,” I say, tilting my head toward him as I inch closer. “Do you mind if I ask what you’re researching?”
“A-are you interested in science?” His eyes seem to brighten at the question, and the pace of my heart ignites, his hand gripping the strap of his bag mercilessly. I drag my tongue over my bottom lip as the muscles in his forearm flex with strength.
I hate to disappoint him, but I can’t bring myself to lie either.
“Not really,” I admit, an awkward chuckle escaping my lips. I can feel my face flush in embarrassment as I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Fiction is more my style,” I say, acknowledging the book cradled in my arms. “I like to write and well—” I shrug my shoulders. “Just trying to make conversation.”
“It’s a…it’s a project,” he stammers, his gaze slipping away, as if afraid to meet mine. “For class. I chose hormonal influence on behavior.”
“What’s that about?” I ask, leaning closer, intrigued by the intensity flickering in his eyes.
“It’s-it’s a study focused on how different hormonal levels affect mood a-and behavior in humans, analyzing how stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline influence decision-making…and emotional responses.”
“That sounds interesting,” I say, though the words swirl in my mind like he’s speaking a foreign language. His passion hints at a world I’ve never dared enter. Science always felt like an enigma, far beyond my comprehension, yet it’s so obvious it sparks something alive inside of him. I love seeing that spark in another’s eyes, and it certainly doesn’t hurt when the eyes happen to be so clear and honest-looking.
“Very,” he assures. “Science is very fascinating, Miss Amara.”
“Really,” I say with a light chuckle. “JustAmarais fine,” I correct gently, though part of me doesn’t mind the way it sounds coming from his mouth.
“Okay,Just Amara, then,” he replies, a ghost of a smile touching his lips with the tease. My laughter spills involuntarily into the air, and for a brief moment, his expression warms,revealing a glimpse of the man beneath the guarded exterior. But it fades just as hastily, and a shadow seems to settle between us again.
“Science was one of my worst subjects, but maybe you could teach me a thing or two. You seem really smart.”
“You flatter me, Miss Am—” He smiles and glances down as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, noticing me raising my eyebrows. “Amara.”
His reply is ambiguous, a nod that holds neither commitment nor denial, before he swiftly turns away. I sense urgency in his movements, as if he’d rather be anywhere but here with me.
“Are you going to be at dinner tonight?” I blurt, heart racing. I feel as though my desire to spend more time with him is swelling with a desperation about to swallow me whole.
Tristan looks back at me, his gaze still warm and inviting. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“See you then, Mr. Black.”
“Please,” he says with a gentle dip of his head, “call me Tristan.”
Tristan.
My heart flutters. I am but a prisoner to his unintentional allure.
He remains oblivious to the grip he holds on me, this handsome, intelligent man who prefers the company of books over the light-hearted exchanges I so eagerly crave with him. It is this very trait that enchants me. I’m desperate to know who he is.
Desperate to discover what lurks beneath his reticent exterior.
Dinner cannot come soon enough as an ache yearns to bury myself into the mystery that is Tristan Black. And maybe, if I’m lucky, he’ll then bury himself into me.
Nine
