Page 51 of The Souls We Claim
Uncertain of when Halo will return, I step into the hallway to assess how far I am from the kitchen. I don’t want to be too far away if Lola wakes up and needs me. I know the direction to the bar, but there are too many people in there.
“Hey,” a man says, walking toward me and smiling. “It’s Arianne, right?” He wears a cut that says he’s a prospect.
“That’s right.”
“I’m Brandon.” There’s a large red rose tattooed on the back of his hand. “Do you need something?”
“I wanted some water.”
Brandon steps a little closer. Perhaps too close. Or maybe I’m imagining things.
“I can get you anything you want,” he says. The innuendo is ripe in his voice.
“No. It’s fine. If you could just point the way.”
He reaches for my hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
I take a small step backward. My heart races. He smells of cologne, like Patrick always did. I figured it was to cover up the scent of the woman I suspected he was having an affair with.
Brandon takes one step forward. “I’m a good guy, Arianne. Honest. Let’s go get you something to drink, and you can tell me about yourself.” His eyes skim down my pajamas to my legs, and the smile he offers is at best lascivious.
Suddenly, I’m thrust back to Patrick, the way he’d look at me sometimes. It turns my stomach, and worse, fear rumbles in my chest.
I take another step back but slam up against something hard. “Steady, Arianne.”
Halo. His hand slips around my waist, his palm firm against my stomach. Heat pours from him, but with it comes solidity and safety.
“Suggest you go do something fucking useful, Prospect. My truck’s outside. Go clean it.”
Brandon opens his mouth, then closes it. “It’s four in the morning.”
“Means you’ve got plenty of time to do a good job because I won’t need it before ten.”
He glances in my direction. “I was just chatting with Arianne. Best of my knowledge, she ain’t claimed.”
“She’s married. About as fucking claimed as you can get. Now clean my fucking truck before I make you do it with your tongue.”
Brandon stares Halo down for a moment, but I can tell the second he loses.
“I’ll see you later, Arianne,” he says.
As he leaves, I turn and face Halo. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t flirting with him. He just kept stepping into my space. I just needed some water, and I didn’t see any glasses in your room, so I was going to try and find the kitchen or something so I could find a cup and?—”
“Arianne.” Halo says the word firmly.
“Yes?”
He strokes my hair, and I rub my head against his palm. “Get in bed. I’ll go get you a bottle of water.”
I sigh. “It’s okay. I’m?—”
“If you’re about to say ‘sorry,’ swallow it. Go back to my room. Lock the door. I have a key.”
I do as Halo says, embarrassed by what just happened. And angry. Why couldn’t I just stand up to Brandon and tell him to step away?
Because Patrick would have split your lip if you tried.
It’s going to take some time to undo all these automatic reflexes. Maybe once all this is settled and I have the little apartment or house that Halo suggested, I’ll keep it as restful as possible.
