Page 12 of Mimic
She looked innocent. Pure.
I couldn’t touch her. I wouldn’t allow my blood-covered hands to taint her life. Moving closer, I kneeled by her bed.
“Indie,” I whispered.
She breathed deeply in her sleep before turning her head away. My hand lifted without permission, a solitary finger reaching under her chin, rotating her back in my direction.
“Indigo.” My voice raised an octave higher as she stirred.
Her eyes fluttered before they opened, and she stared into my eyes. A flash of something crossed her face as she gasped, before her eyes focused on me.
Her eyes drifted closed; her breath sped up as she placed a hand over her chest. Was she afraid of me?
“Indie?”
“Give me a minute, please.” Her hands covered her face, and I stood, backing away.
“Come out to the living room so I can check on you.” I turned on my heel and strolled out of the room. My mind told me to run. To leave her alone. But she was afraid of something. Or someone.
Her footsteps were soft as she entered the room. I kept my back to her, not ready to see what she wore.
“Do you want some coffee?”
“No, you need to go back to bed when we’re done.”
“Coffee helps me sleep,” she said, and I finally turned.
Indie stood on her toes, reaching for a mug. The black tank top she wore lifted, revealing a swath of skin between the top and the shorts she wore. And the shorts...
Fuck!
The very bottom of her cheeks hung just below the edge, teasing all my senses. My hands wanted to reach out and squeeze. My eyes feasted as my brain questioned what the rest of her ass looked like. I licked my lips as an image of me behind her, my teeth sinking into the silky skin, floated in front of me.
“Mimic?”
My eyes snapped to hers. I expected anger that she caught me staring at her ass. Or maybe embarrassment that I was checking her out. Neither were there. In fact, there was nothing. No emotion on her face as she held a mug in her hand.
“Do you want some?”
“Sure.” My voice cracked on the word, but if Indie heard it, she gave nothing away. She stood by the counter as the coffee brewed, and when it was done, she handed me a cup and then sat in a chair at the table.
“Okay, do what you have to do.”
She couldn’t know what those words would do to me. How the thought of taking over her body would fuel my dark urges. I cleared my throat and set my coffee down. My hands braced the countertop as I turned my back to her.
“Go back to bed. You are walking and talking fine.”
I couldn’t keep the gravel out of my voice. I was hanging on by a thread.
“Don’t you have to shine a light in my eyes or something?”
“Do you have a headache?”
“No, but—”
“You’re fine. Go back to bed.”
I listened for movement. The sound of her standing up, the footsteps scuffing down the hall. The sound of her door closing. I heard none of it. Looking over my shoulder, I found her still sitting at the table, staring at me. Her face was blank, but her eyes held something I couldn’t discern.
