Page 18 of Prodigy & Tybalt
Prodigy shrugged, his shirt stretching further. I dragged my eyes away. “I got an alert that something tried to breach our fence, and I got up to check it.”
I stiffened, all the warmth draining from me.
“Nothing to worry about,” Prodigy said with a gentleness that warmed me. He dug his phone from the back pocket of his jeans—dark wash andverywell fitted—then showed me the screen. “Here’s the culprit.”
“A fox,” I groaned, watching the black and white footage of a fox sniffing at a tall chain-link fence, until a shock of electricity warned it back. “You scared the shit out of me, Prodigy.”
“Barclay,” he said, catching me off guard with a squeeze to my hand. “My name’s Barclay, and yours is…”
“Private,” I replied with a sweet trickle of venom.
He laughed. “Well, come on, Private. Let’s get you some books.”
9
Prodigy
“Oh, hell no,” she barked when she finally realised I’d led her to the garage where my bike waited. “You couldn’t pay me to get on that thing with you.”
“But could I bribe you?” I asked, reaching inside the leather jacket I’d grabbed on the way out and holding out a jade-green penknife. The fact that it matched the shade of her eyes was a complete coincidence.
She snatched it out of my hand without a word, popping out the blade and admiring it. “I could stab you with this,” she pointed out.
“If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, I hope you do stab me.”
She gave me a dubious look. “Are you sure someone with your condition should be president of the biker boy band?”
I fought a smile for all of one second before it won, overtaking my face. “What condition would that be, Private?”
“Stupidity,” she replied in a flat voice, giving me a look so similar to Tyb’s exasperated glare when I teased him. “I’m only coming with you because you promised me books.”
“Of course,” I agreed, ignoring the way my heart was doing backflips and somersaults and a damn victory lap.
She took a step, then another, still tentative on her ankle. I’d have to make sure Giant took another look at it. “And the knife’s pretty too, I guess. It matches my eyes.”
“Does it? I hadn’t noticed.” I grabbed a spare jacket from one of the hooks on the garage wall, holding it out to her with the lining facing her. With a sigh, she turned around and pushed her arms into the sleeves, letting me settle the jacket on her shoulders.
“I can dress myself, but I can’t be bothered to get into that argument with you,” she informed me, a little sullen, as if there wasn’t colour high on her cheeks and a distinctly sweet note to her scent.
“You wouldn’t win it anyway,” I replied, ducking to kiss the top of her head before I could stop myself. Dammit. I needed to get myself under control and—her scent sweetened even further, fragrant flowers laced with honey. I had to swallow a groan. “The jacket keeps you safe on the road, and I take the personal safety of everyone under my protection very seriously.”
She gave me alookover her shoulder, tucking the knife into the jacket’s pocket. I bit back a satisfied noise at the sight of the Knights’ emblem on her body, trying in vain to tell myself she wasn’t mine, she was hurt and vulnerable and afraid, and wanted nothing to do with me.
At first, it was simply instinct, the same protective urge I got with every victim we saved. But after spending time with her, learning she was sharp and fun and so damn quick with a retort, it was more than instinct. I meant what I said—I was curious about her. And it was damned inconvenient to realise I likedher. I ought to give her space, let her heal, but something in that sweet, aching scent urged me to keep close. The way I failed to keep close to Tyb when he first arrived, and then almost lost him. I thought he needed space, but in reality he needed to be suffocated with affection and support. He still did.
And since he regularly told me how similar he and the omega were, how their trauma and coping mechanisms were identical, giving her space was a mistake. Maybe it was fate that put her in my path this morning. Maybe the fox was a god meddling in our lives.
“I don’t know how to climb on that thing,” she told me, frowning at Warning’s bike.
“Not that one.” I fit my hands to her hips under the jacket and lifted her onto the back of my bike, a deceptively sleek ink-dark beauty that was more powerful than some of the bulkier models. “This one.”
I allowed myself two seconds to appreciate the sight of her on my bike—she looked every bit as good on it as Tyb the few times he’d borrowed (stolen) it—and then I climbed on in front of her.
“I’ll go slow at first, but hold on tight,” I said, reaching back for her arms, pulling them around me.
She made a throaty sound. “Feel up your own abs, weirdo. I’m not gonna do it for you.”
My laugh came from deep in my chest, filling up the garage. “Did you just ask me to touch myself for you…?”
