Page 43 of The Tribrid Princess and the Taste of Chaos
Is he ok? What if he’s collapsed? Panic rushes through me. From what I know, a manananggal’s bite is dangerous. Was he cut or bitten? I’m not even sure.
I cross the room and step into the light of the shower room. Instantly, I’m hit with a familiar scent, and my eyes land on the man I’ve been searching for, standing facing the mirrors, his hands braced on the counter, his black hair soaking wet. But, it’s his broad, bare back with water trickling down it that demands my attention.
He is… wow…
Gods, is he so… perfect.
Every ridge and defined muscle is carved with precision. Every part of him, right down to his lower back, which is half hidden by the towel wrapped around his waist, pulled tight around his ass.
My cheeks burn, heat licking my entire body, and then I feel his piercing gaze sear into me.
In My Head
Jayce
Ismell her before I even hear her, music blaring through my earbuds. Rich and intoxicating. And then I sense her emotions as chaotic as her unruly curls. Not as intense as they were out earlier tonight, but still forceful and somewhat… hotter. I guess seeing a man in a towel, regardless of who it is, works for her.
I look at her through the mirror, freezing for a fraction of a second, my eyes skimming over her.
She’s not in that hoodie she loves to hide beneath; instead, she’s in some grey yoga pants that wrap around her legs like a glove, emphasising her sexy thighs and curvaceous hips. She’s paired it with a white tee that accentuates her every sinful curve. Her wet curls are pinned up on top of her head.
Why the fuck has she just walked in here looking like the devil’s plaything?
Her eyes are fixed on me, her cheeks a pretty shade of blush, and I turn, not missing the way her eyes are drinking up my physique. I can’t help but smirk.
“If you were looking for Renji, I hate to break it to you, but you got the wrong Westwood. Not that you seem to mind the view.”
Her eyes fly open. “I was looking for you,” she says breathlessly, in a voice that fucking grates on my nerves and yet fucks with my mind. I narrow my eyes and notice her glance at her Schattensicht, her cheeks flushing as she tries to grasp onto what to say.
So she used that to locate me…
“Those are supposed to be used for missions only, not to stalk your fellow teammates, let alone your commander,” I say emotionlessly.
She’s looking anywhere but at me now, her arm pressed between her breasts, in that annoying way that only draws attention to them. I look away and cross my arms, ignoring the pain stabbing through my arm as I switch off the music.
She doesn’t answer this time, and that irritates me. She talks perfectly well to everyone else.
“What do you want?” I ask, irritation seeping into my voice.
“I…”
“Spit it out,” I command, making her flinch.
“I wanted to apologise.” Her voice is soft, like a caress against the skin, as she now looks up at me with those stormy grey eyes that are rimmed with a darker ring.
Apologise…
I scoff as I look down at my shoulder; it’s not healing as well as it should have been. Maybe the manananggal got its teeth into me, but I’m not sure because I wasn’t able to focus with her emotions fucking with my head.
Intuition.
That’s something I inherited from my father’s bloodline, and, as advantageous as it can be when it comes to her, it fucks me over. I can’t even push past it and focus on anything. It’s why I never wanted her anywhere near me, not when she’s a fucking walking, talking ball of chaos.
That, and the way she distracts me by simply being here. Another pathetic reason.
I saunter over to her, eating up the space between us, and she steps back, her heart hammering, making her breasts rise and fall rapidly as her back hits the wall beside the door.
I rest my good arm above her head and look down at her, getting a good view of her breasts, and notice she’s wearing a lace bra. I can see the pattern outlined against her top, a green bra…
