Page 27 of Sire
A face possessing your soul.
People on the sidewalk greeted him on our stroll here. Cashiers waved when we entered the store. The manager rushed over to shake his hand. “Evenin’, Pastor Rutledge.” The lady in the bakery offered him a sample of salted brownies … and silently, her pussy if she could serve it on a platter, too.
Everyone knows him. Most want him. All worship him and eye me with suspicion, even though he’s politely introducing me as “Wren, a family friend.”
“Guess we should keep your last name hush-hush.” He teases, “Since you’re in hiding and all.”
From the bottom shelf, I grab the cheapest bag of sugar. “Puhlease. Like you aren’t hiding, too.” Not answering, hetakes it, puts it back, grabs a bag of organic sugar, so I chuckle, “Andthat’s what I thought.”
From the middle shelf, I select the cheapest bottle of vanilla extract and add it to our cart. He puts it back, grabbing the most expensive kind, with his question, “Where did you get good instincts?”
“Nice try.” I use the bottom shelf as a step to reach the baking chocolate bar on the top shelf. “I’m not telling you where I’m from. Remember?”
But it’s my constant struggle. I’m too short, and who puts shit up this high? Stretching, I use sheer will to make my fingers grow two inches longer, my toes teetering on the edge of the shelf.
“Let me grab that.”
His big hand steadies my waist, making me gasp. His touch, warm and soft, his masculine scent wrapping around me. His gruff voice tickles my ear as he reaches over me for the chocolate bar. “You’re going to tell me everything about you, Wren Chapel. Because you know too much about me, and your instincts are right; that’s a dangerous thing.”
Instantly, he pulls away, leaving my heart racing from his threat, his touch.
I step off the shelf and whip around to find his indigo eyes warning me.
“Fine.” I glance down the aisle. We’re alone, but I lower my voice. “You want to know something about me? Okay. A social worker named me. It’s in my records. She wrote that I looked like an abandoned baby bird and named me Wren. And I got my last name because that’s what they usually do with orphans. We’re named after where we’re found. Dix Chapel. Thank God I got the second name.”
His brows bend. “You were left in a chapel?”
“Yep. Wrapped in a blanket and left on a pew, and no one’s ever claimed me, and I don’t know where I’m from.Brazil? Morocco? Lebanon? I’ve heard it all. ‘You’re so pretty. Are you Cherokee?’ and I can’t answer because I don’t know, which makes for really sad conversations because it’s none of their damn business that no one wanted me, so yeah. That’s me, in an unknown nutshell.” I fold my arms. “Your turn.”
He swallows the last bite of his apple, his eyes darkening, but I don’t back down. I arch a brow.
“My father was an abusive and powerful man,” he shares. “When I was thirteen, my mom finally escaped him, and my brothers and I have been hiding here, with her, under different names ever since. That’s me, in a hidden nutshell.”
“Was?Is he dead?”
“I’ll kill him one day.”
“That’s not very godly of you.”
“Oh,” he smirks, “Godwantsme to kill him. He deserves it.”
I’m not shocked or scared. Oddly, I’ve never felt as safe as I do, standing in Sire’s shadow. “Is your father the Devil? The one you mentioned when you rescued me?”
“It doesn’t bother you? That I’m going to kill another man?”
“Way to change the subject and no. It doesn’t bother me. Grow up like I did—unwanted—and you realize there are no rights or wrongs. Just survival.”
“Damn, Wren.” He shakes his head. “With every minute you talk, I want to kill whoever hurt you. You know that, right?” His voice drops, ominous and lethal. “I’m going tokillhim. Whoever tried to sell you into that hell. God has told me to do it.”
“I know and that’s why I’m not telling you his name.” Rage curls his lip, but I chirp, “So, where did you getyourname?”
“Way to change the subject.”
“Tit for tat. So, what are you? An equestrian?” I scan hisimpressive form. “A sire is a stallion, right? One used for breeding, and you were named after one?”
With a sexy laugh, his rage evaporates. “Sireis also what you call a king.”
There’s a new, electric edge to him tonight—I don’t know what’s changed between us in twenty-four hours—but I want to dance on it.
