Page 14 of Forbidden Devotion
Even though the vampire hadn’t exactly been threatening. He was smallish with fair skin and blond hair. His features were more elvin than vampire with that slightly upturned nose, those high cheekbones, that pink blush across his cheeks.
But when his fangs descended and he hissed like the demon he was, Mitchel hadn’t been able to back down. He’d had to protect his pack.
He’d stunned the younger wolves. Of course, they’d had a week to get used to the vampire in their midst. They wouldn’t have expected his reaction.
And now he owed an apology to his arch nemesis. A vampire.
He locked eyes with Eleanor. “What should I say?”
* * *
Mitchel trackeddown the vampire’s office via the campus directory, one Sinclair Davis apparently, here to teach and study history. Which sounded about as bland as sodium-free saltines.
But Sinclair had been thoroughly vetted, and Borson’s administration concluded he presented no threat to the university.
I’ll determine that for myself.
He knocked grudgingly. “Come in,” came a pleasant voice from inside. It didn’t sound like the same person from yesterday, but gagging had probably done a number on his vocal cords at the time.
Mitchel steeled himself for the conversation to come and shoved open the door.
The vampire sucked in a breath. His posture grew rigid, as if preparing for another attack.Shit.Mitchel had done that to him. Part of him was pleased. The better part of him was horrified.
The vampire schooled his features back to neutrality, a quick process. “What are you doing here?”
Mitchel took a fortifying breath. “I came to apologize—”
“Apologize?” Sinclair widened his eyes. Blond brows climbed straight up his forehead.
“Yes. For yesterday.” Mitchel glanced around the office rather than look directly at the vampire. Sparse, tidy, and with none of the clutter of his own. “You caught me off guard. I’m sorry.”
Sinclair waited for him to meet his gaze before replying. “Okay, so you’ve apologized. Now what?”
“Um, that’s it. I shouldn’t have—”
“Tried to kill me?” Sinclair offered, head tilted. He leaned back in his chair.
Mitchel prickled. “If I’d been trying to kill you, you’d be dead.”
Sinclair crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips.
Whoops.That wasn’t very conciliatory of him. Apologies were hard. Threats were easier. “Sorry.”
“Okay.”
It hadn’t slipped past Mitchell that “okay” wasn’t forgiveness, but he didn’t care. He’d done his part. He turned to leave.
“Wait.”
He stopped, gritting his teeth.
“We haven’t had a proper introduction. If we’re going to be living together, we ought to be civil.”
“I don’t actually live in the dorm building. I live—“
“In the cabin by the stream. I know.”
Mitchel’s gut clenched. “How do you know that?”
