Page 76 of Tabitha

Maybe Pierce is right. My father had plenty of opportunity to take me out, but I still have my doubts. He doesn’t know my dad like I do. He doesn’t know what he’s capable of. My father believes life is a lesson in survival.

Maybe I passed all those years ago when I shot him to escape…or maybe this is my final test. I touch my weapons one last time, testing to ensure they are within easy reach, then nod and head down the stairs.

Bast is waiting for me by the door, immediately coming to attention when I enter.

“Are you okay?” He takes a step toward me, waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs as I descend.

The lightness and humor are gone from his amber eyes, his soul looking ancient. I stop on the second to last step, leaving us at the same height, then I reach out and brush my fingers against the deep furrow between his brows. “Maybe I should be the one asking that question?”

He catches my hand, pressing it to his chest, a weary sigh escaping him. His heartbeat gradually slows until it matches mine, and I step down the last step so I can peer up at him.

With my hand caught firmly in his grip, I should feel trapped—the man towers over me and outweighs me by nearly a hundred pounds—yet all I feel is concern for him. The sensations feel odd…but right.

“You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, but I want to ask a favor from you. Please don’t go anywhere by yourself.” He winces, even as he asks it. “I don’t like that you have a target on your back. I’ve lost too many good soldiers, and I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

His husky rasp crawls past all my defenses.

A man like him stands tall and proud. He doesn’t bend, doesn’t break, and doesn’t back down. So if he’s asking me to do this for him, it means something.

I lift my chin and ask softly, “Are you asking your men to do the same?”

An amused smile curls his lips, his eyes brightening. “Already done.”

“Very well, then. I’ll do the same.” I hate when people treat me differently, like I’m weak and incapable of doing something because I was born with a pair of breasts and bleed once a month. My father trained me to be faster and more vicious than most men. I use it to my advantage most times, but it’s important that these men see me as an equal.

With his amber eyes on me, I suspect Bast actually sees me as more than just an assassin.

To my surprise, I like it.

I like being noticed.

Feeling like I matter.

Yet I worry if he looks too hard, he might see too much, might see the real me—that there is nothing beneath the shell but a killer—and that scares the crap out of me.

Because if he knew the truth, if he discovered just how broken I really am, he would run.

But I fear it’s already too late for me. His attention is much too addicting. If he runs, I might actually give chase.

So I need to find a way to make him stay.

Most women flirt by touching a man to show their interest.

I’ve never tried to draw a man’s attention before. How hard could it be?

I run my hand down his chest, then cup his cock and give it a squeeze, a thrill going through me when he groans and hardens in my grip. I peer up at him from under my lashes, brace myself for rejection, and open myself up to hurt by admitting the truth. “I think I’m beginning to like you.”

He releases a huff of laughter, then catches my hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing the back of it like a claim of ownership. “That’s good,” he rumbles, placing my hand back over his heart. “Because I like you too.”

I blow out a hard breath, the tight muscles of my shoulders relaxing, and I smile up at him. “This flirting shit is hard, but I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

* * *

BAST

Achuckle rumbles in my chest when Tabitha saunters away, the little minx proud of her totally outrageous flirting abilities. I bet money that she’s never flirted before in her life, and pride swells in my chest that she chose to practice on me.

I thought of correcting her, but I’m actually looking forward to seeing what she’ll do next.

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