Page 153 of Taken

He nuzzled my temple. “How about a burger?”

My stomach growled, and he chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

While I was flat on my back, healing, someone had washed my pants. Zaq got them for me along with my phone, wallet and a ribbed white tank, saying, “I had to throw out your shirt.”

I nodded and washed my bra and boyshorts in the bathroom sink. Zaq ran them through the dryer while I dried my hair and brushed my teeth.

By then my underwear was ready, so I got dressed and put my phone in my pocket without turning it on. The wallet I left in Zaq’s bedroom for now.

The last thing I did was reach for my blades, but I’d lost them in the underworld. I made a mental note to borrow some from Zaq.

As an undercover slayer, I’d seen a lot of rich vampires’ lairs over the years, but Zaq’s loft felt like a home in a way none of those lavish, expensively furnished lairs had. Yeah, it clearly belonged to a rich man—it had to be at least two thousand square feet with high ceilings, wood beams and exposed brick walls. The kitchen had gleaming graphite counters, pale orange cabinets and top-of-the-line appliances.

Still, the loft felt lived in. The walls that weren’t brick were painted a tranquil sea green. The living room was furnished in buttery-soft, mid-century leather chairs and couches, and the coffee table held a thriller by Harlan Coben and a stack of well-thumbed travel magazines. In one corner stood a pool table with the balls racked up and ready to play, and two of the leather chairs were pulled up to the gas fireplace in the living room’s center. Scattered here and there were family photos and an eclectic mix of First Nations pottery and statuettes.

Zaq stood at the kitchen stove with his back to me, his only clothing a pair of gray jogging pants cut off at the knees. He flashed a smile at me over his shoulder. “Burgers will be ready in five minutes.”

“Can I help?”

“Nah, I got it. Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.” I drifted around the living room, looking at things without touching them.

What would it be like to live somewhere like this? Somewhere that felt like a home, not just the place where I stowed my stuff?

A home where the man cooking in the kitchen belonged to me?

My eyes turned toward Zaq like he was a man-sized magnet. Savoring the smooth, efficient way his muscles worked as he flipped the burgers and added slices of cheese on top. The cut-offs hung low on his hips, showcasing a pair of deep dimples on his lower back, dimples I wanted to lick and fondle.

My chest hollowed out with longing.

Move in with me. Go to college.

He sent me another smile like he felt my eyes on him. “Almost done.”

A sharp pang constricted my lungs. “It smells good,” I managed to say.

Zaq made it sound so easy, but it wasn’t. I’d taken a vow when I’d joined Slayers, Inc. A vow I’d meant to the depths of my soul. The idea of breaking that vow made me my heart jitter and thump against my ribcage.

But you’ve already broken the vow. You’re a rogue.

Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod.

That’s when I realized how completely I’d burned my bridges. They’d even put out a hit on me.

Emotions welled up in me. My throat closed.

Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod.

I took a couple of calming breaths, tamping the emotions down. I couldn’t deal with this right now. Later, when Zaq was safe, I could consider how thoroughly I’d blown up my life. That is, if I’d somehow managed to evade SI’s long arm.

But not now.

I took a few more deep breaths and looked around, focusing on my surroundings in order to ground myself.

I stood in front of the fireplace. Scattered along its thick wood mantelpiece were a mismatched set of framed photos. I picked up the first, my mouth twitching at Zaq and his brothers standing with their arms around each other, mugging for the camera. Zaq must’ve been about ten, which made Gabriel twelve and Rafe eight. The three of them were so freaking cute, like half-grown puppies.

I put it down to examine the photo of Zaq and his mom at some fancy event. He was sleek and sexy in a tux and she wore a long red dress, their dark heads inclined toward each other as they grinned at the camera. I’d seen photos of Rosemarie Kral, of course. I’d even remarked that Zaq took after her side of the family. This photo made it obvious—he was clearly the male version of Rosemarie down to the tiny smile lines at the corners of their mouth.

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