Page 26 of The Way You Bite
Chapter Eight
What the hell was she doing? Lexan and Eric hadn’t even reached their home base before he got a call from TC, who he’d ordered guard her. Leaving hadn’t been easy. Instinct demanded he watch and guard her himself. But him near her right now, watching and stalking, asked for catastrophe. He’d end up in her apartment, probably within an hour. Then, there’d be no restraint to the hormonal tornado gripping him.
She wasn’t ready.
Now he watched her a hundred yards away and couldn’t process what he witnessed as possible.
Vee had parked in a shady area less than a mile away from her apartment, behind a dilapidated warehouse. She doused her car’s interior in gasoline and palmed a matchbook, staring at her little car as if drumming up the courage to light the match. When he’d left her she’d been aroused, possibly scared, but not suicidal. Maybe she decided there was no other way out. Maybe she’d realized she wasn’t full vampire.
As she opened the matchbook and neared the car, panic hit, pushing him to do whatever necessary to stop her from dying. Using preternatural speed, he ran. He caught her hand. “I can’t let you do this.”
“Where the hell did you come from?” Vee jerked her hand out of his grasp and backed away from him.
He’d dealt with a number of suicidal wolves over the years, most back in the days of their enslavement. Panic hadn’t been a player in his reactions before. He needed to calm down.
Her dying of her own volition didn’t fit with her fighter spirit. It made no sense, but it terrified him. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her until it passed. She needed to know she was important…to him.
When had this happened?
With a throat clear he began, “Is it all so bad you see suicide as the only way out?”
She continued to stare at him with her eyes wide as if uncertain of her next move. “I wasn’t—”
“Maybe you could put killing yourself on hold for right now,” he interrupted. “Let’s go get a coffee or something and we can talk.” Distract and delay. That usually worked to calm someone from their determination. Somehow he had to work into conversation she was half wolf, a sure way to make her more suicidal. Best to delay on that truth.
“Coffee? Like Starbucks?” She shook her head and glimpsed at her wristwatch as if she had something more urgent to do. Suicide on a timeline? “This is my business.” She pulled a match out of the flimsy cardboard matchbook.
“I won’t let you do this.” He grabbed the matches out of her hand.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time for coffee or whatever you think you’re doing here. Give me back the matches.”
He tucked them in his jeans. “No.”
“If I wanted to die, the easiest way is to slit my wrists, get naked out here, and ash myself. It’d be fast and less painful than burning to death. Or, I could try to attack you, and Eric would blow my head off with his shotgun.”
“Then what the hell are you doing?” He waved at her gas-soaked car. His peripheral vision caught Eric slowly approaching, armed and ready. Eric didn’t trust her. Of course, Eric didn’t trust anyone he hadn’t already known for several decades.
“As I said before, it’s none of your business.”
“As of right now, I’m making it my business.”
“I’m not one of your subjects you can order around, Your Highness. Tell Eric to back off and the two of you go away. Matches, please.” She held out her hand.
“Not until you tell me what this is about.”
“You’re annoying.” She turned to an abandoned backpack and rummaged, emerging with a lighter.
Annoying? He wasn’t annoying. Dictatorial, imperious, even the label of arrogant had been levied at him before. Never had anyone called him something as quaint asannoying. Car alarms in a parking garage were annoying. Sutures in a healed wound were annoying. He’d heard mates were annoying.
Mates? What an unholy twist of fate to bind the two of them together. Even the concept had to be his imagination despite all the signs they were matched.
She chucked her cell phone into the car where she’d deposited the most gasoline and flicked on the plastic green lighter. After a long gaze at the lighter’s little flame, she shook her head. “It’s safety protected so it won’t stay on if I toss it. Hand me back the matches.”
“Why the hell are you burning your car?”
“The best way to buy some time and get out of a command meeting with my father in a few hours is to fake my death. They might buy it for a little while.”
“You realize your death, whether real or fake, will be pinned on us and used as a way to escalate the war?”
