Page 48 of His to Haunt

“How do you do that?” I say, wiping tears.

“Do what?”

“Move so fast? It’s…”

Impossible.

“I…need air,” I mutter, standing too fast and feeling dizzy.

I feel hot and itchy. As I reach the door, Zand is already there opening it—another seemingly impossible gesture as if he teleported.

Breathing in the fresh cool air, I try to regain my composure on the patio by focusing my eyes on the sky, trying in vain to find stars where there are only clouds.

“Do you know what happened to her, Zand?”

“It makes no difference,” he says quickly, taking my hand, and I gasp, startled, as he tugs me quickly around to face him.

He pulls me closer, his fierce-looking eyes seeming to glow unnaturally in the cloud-filtered moonlight. For the first time, I realize how pronounced his canine teeth are, angled into sharply defined points.

“We must finish,” he says, his eyes glinting predatory in grey nightlight.

“What do you mean by that?” I say, my hands on his chest, pushing against him.

“Enough questions.”

“I have a right to know.”

“No, Leena. Your rights are limited.”

“Excuse me?”

He shakes his head at me, making a tsk-tsk sound as he releases me, but I stand motionless as his gaze firmly pins me in place.

“I knew you would be nothing but trouble.” His deep voice trembles through me like a danger warning. Alerted, I feel the blood slowly leave my face in realization.

His anger over my arrival wasn’t just about him being cut from the will. He didn’t want me snooping around. I stupidly thought it was my duty to assert myself in this situation. But the Byron’s were running a racket. And now I’ve asked too many questions, tipping my hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“Shh,” he says, instantly right before me. He takes my hand and puts it on his chest. His heart is beating rapidly, and my own quickly catches up, the adrenaline of fear coursing through me.

“The problem with you, Leena, is…you make mefeel.”

I blink at him, utterly confused. The quizzical look in his strangely glistering, predatory eyes doesn’t help. I can’t tell if he wants to kill me or kiss me. Or maybe both.

Oh, dear God. Is Zand Byron my sister’s killer?

“Come,” he says, pulling me back into his place, where he locks the doors before I have time to react.

“Let me go,” I say, reaching for the knob.

“Please, let me explain,” he says, motioning me to the sofa with his hand.

He leaves me at the door, and I quickly consider my options. My instincts say to run away, but my reasoning mind wants answers. The urgency of the moment, no matter how dangerous it feels, with every fiber of my being fearing what he might say, I still want to know.

I go to him, sitting on the sofa inches from him, angled to face him, the candlelight flickering over his supernaturally handsome face—he looks plucked from another time and place, a dark prince of a Romanian castle transported to this carriage house.

“You see too much,” he says simply.

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