Slip of Fate (Werelock Evolution Book 1) (20 page)

I held the keys out in front of me, unfurling my clenched right fist to reveal the precious keychain in silent offering to him. While he took it from my palm and began carefully turning it over in his fingers, looking at the photos on either side, I searched for any sign of him inside my head, just to be certain he hadn’t snuck up on me. I found no trace.

“You look like her,” he said of my mother. “How old are you here?” he asked of the one at the amusement park.

“Four.”

“You’re adorable.”

I shrugged one shoulder awkwardly, not quite able to muster up a good-natured “thanks.”

“You know, you still make that same face when you’re upset,” he quipped.

I gasped in mock affront before I could think better of it, jabbing my elbow back into his ribs as I giggled in protest, “Do not!”

“Do so!” he insisted, tickling me under the arm when I jabbed him with my elbow a second time.

I shrieked with laughter and a second later found myself on my back on the closet floor, being tickled by supernaturally fast fingers as I giggled like a hyena and begged in between squeals for him to desist.

Once he stopped and I regained my composure, I looked up to find him cheesing down at me with such an absurdly self-satisfied grin it set me snickering all over again. He shook his head, squinting down at me, a goofy smile still stretched across his face.

“This must be a weird side effect of having my blood in your system,” he ascertained, “because I never thought I’d hear genuine laughter from you so soon.”

My breath caught and my face fell before promptly heating with shame.
I was an imbecile.
What was I thinking? Laughing like a twit with my flirty rake of an evil, psychotic captor while my poor brother languished God only knows where?

Alex’s smile vanished as well as he watched me. Somehow he seemed to accurately discern that I was internally berating myself. As I knew he wasn’t in my head, it made his next words that much more shocking when he confirmed the exact cause of my sudden distress.

“Hey, it’s okay.” His fingers delved into the hair at my scalp to massage my greatest point of weakness. “Raul’s fine. No one is hurting him; I’ve made sure of that. And you’re allowed to laugh a little after everything you’ve been through these past few days,” he said. “Fuck, we almost lost you.”

His words were sobering on multiple levels, as they reaffirmed that I really had come close to dying, a fact I had strangely mixed feelings about. They also confirmed that Raul was likely only alive right now and not being harmed for the moment because of Alex’s wolf’s weird preoccupation with me—another disturbing fact he’d possibly also just confirmed through his use of “we.”

I nodded agreeably, while promising myself I wouldn’t let my guard down again with him for even a minute, and reminding myself that in addition to all of his other hateful crimes against me and those I loved, he was also the overbearing asshole who had most likely confiscated my passport, iPad, and cell phone.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, to my astonishment, “for sharing the photos of you and your mother with me, Milena.”

My stomach flipped. My name was sounding a lot like exotic chocolate again. “You’re welcome?” I whispered it like a question as I fought against the seduction of his fingers still combing my scalp.

I was pretty certain I’d never heard him say thank you before—at least not with some degree of sarcasm. I was instantly stumped, and sure it was he who was experiencing weird side effects. But I realized he’d also given me an opening through which to test my influence and see if I could induce him to give me my iPad and phone back if he had them.

“I have better photos of us on my phone and iPad,” I bemoaned, gazing up at him through my eyelashes. “They were in my backpack when I deplaned, but they’re gone now,” I pouted when he offered no reaction.

His hand stilled and abandoned my scalp. His expression was unreadable as he sat back onto his heels. My heart rate ticked up a notch. I pushed up onto my elbows.

“You don’t um … suppose … Felix and his men stashed my phone and iPad in the van somewhere that Remy just didn’t think to look, do you?”

A smile played on his lips, even as his brows merged together. He shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he replied without hesitation. “I put them both in the top drawer of the dresser for you, baby.”

My mouth fell ajar.

He grinned. “I started unpacking your things earlier but was interrupted when I felt you begin to stir.”

I frowned in confusion, not even bothering to close my mouth.

He chuckled. “You’ll find your passport’s in there, too.” He was on his feet and striding away long before I’d managed to shut my jaw. “Get dressed or don’t get dressed,” he threw back over his shoulder. “I’ll be right outside waiting for you.”

I was still at a loss as I heard the closet door click shut behind him. But I shook it off and scrambled to my feet, my hands shaking as I pulled open the top drawer of the dresser to verify he wasn’t pulling my leg. I wanted to cry all over again when I found my phone, iPad, and passport all present and accounted for. I powered my cell and iPad on and was further surprised to find they were both fully charged and that no files appeared to have been deleted. Neither device had a signal of course, but that was to be expected.

Upon opening my suitcase, I did shed tears, as I was assaulted by all the glorious scents of home: my room, my things …
my mom.
I noted that many of my clothes were missing, though I soon located them inside the next several drawers of the dresser.

I pulled an expertly folded, favorite white henley of mine from one of the drawers and brought it to my nose. It smelled of both Alex and home—an odd combination my presently sensitive sense of smell found disturbingly pleasant. I decided not to overanalyze my decision to wear it anyway. I pulled on a pair of comfy jeans as well before slipping on sandals.

Passing by a wall of mirrors along what I hoped was the right way out of the closet, I caught my reflection and was startled to a halt by what I saw. My hair was a wild fright and my eyes and face were a little swollen and blotchy from crying, but otherwise, I looked good.
Crazy good, in fact!
Bizarrely, inexplicably healthy and robust looking for someone who’d just cheated death.

And while I felt famished, I was perplexed to see I didn’t appear to have lost any weight. I’d always been the type to drop a pound if I so much as skipped lunch, and I’d eaten next to nothing since arriving.

I raked shaky fingers through my hair in a vain attempt to straighten and detangle it as best I could rather than go back to my bag and retrieve a hairbrush in order to do the task properly. I didn’t want Alex thinking I gave a hoot what I looked like around him.

Certainly I was not interested in enticing him—or his creepy, albeit fantastic-smelling, wolf.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I was grateful I’d had the good sense to change out of my pajamas as we made our way downstairs. Alex hadn’t even bothered to put a shirt or shoes on. Though he’d indicated most of the house was sleeping, we passed not less than two dozen guards in human form, and a dozen or so more in their wolf form, before we even arrived at the elevator bank. Any fantasies I’d entertained about the possibility of escape were immediately squashed.

I hadn’t wanted to hold Alex’s hand when he’d first offered it as we exited the hallway outside of his bedroom, which had then led to another exit from his private quarters, but I now found myself gripping his hand and following closely at his side as I resisted the urge to clutch onto his arm with my other hand.

These wolves were huge!
And I found their forms equally scary, whether
Cujo
or human.

I breathed a little easier once we were inside the elevator, only two bulky guards accompanying us on the ride down. Alex squeezed my hand several times in reassurance, but the message never quite seemed to reach my runaway nerves. Compounding my trepidation was the sickening realization that they were all plainly terrified of Alex. I could smell the fear and tension permeating the air, surrounding and following us as we went.

I was walking hand in hand with a bad guy.
I probably looked just like one of those dopey-eyed gangster film girlfriends to everyone—the kind you feel sorry for because you know she’s bound to wind up dead before the end of the film—either at the hands of her mob boss boyfriend or his enemies. I fancied myself an anxious wreck by the time we reached the kitchen.

There were a handful of kitchen workers in white uniforms milling about, some idly chatting while others appeared to be engaged in more productive activities in preparation for the day. Regardless, the calm air of gaiety we walked in on was irrevocably shattered as we were greeted with reactions ranging from horrified disbelief to complete meltdown panic. I had a sinking suspicion Alex didn’t frequent the kitchen area much, and seeing the desperate expressions on the kitchen workers’ faces made me feel terrible for being the reason for his visit.

I hid behind Alex’s shoulder, wanting to disappear as effusive apologies in foreign languages flew out from every direction. A few firm, silencing words in Portuguese from Alex followed, and everyone instantly scattered, leaving just one fretful-looking young man remaining in the enormous kitchen with us.

He and Alex exchanged words in Portuguese, and then the man began dashing about gathering cookware and ingredients, assembling them all together onto a nearby metal food prep counter next to an industrial-sized gas cooktop. Upon finishing, the man swiftly fled from the kitchen.

Once alone with Alex, I realized how much I longed to be able to escape him now as the kitchen workers had. And to my mortification, I also realized that I had at some point taken to clutching his forearm with my other hand when Alex turned and teasingly asked me over his shoulder if he could have it back, saying something about needing it for cooking.

I released his arm like it was on fire, muttering some shaky, effusive apologies of my own. He spun around, a deep scowl marring his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” His keen eyes scanned up and down my person, searching for injury. “What happened?”

I found it remarkable how he could be so in tune with me sometimes, even when he wasn’t interloping on my thoughts, while other times he was hopelessly clueless.

“Did someone do something to upset you?” he demanded. “Look at you the wrong way?”

Ha!
Was he for real? I was certain none of them had dared look at me at all! I swallowed, speechless, as I shook my head continuously at him.

He hefted me by the waist and set me down atop a metal food prep counter, moving to stand between my knees and cupping my face in both hands.

“Milena, I’m about to enter your mind in order to slow your heart rate if you can’t calm yourself down and tell me what the fuck just happened in the next thirty seconds.”

Now that he’d mentioned it, I noted my heart did sound like it was beating a bit fast. At least in my head—
imagination
, rather, it sounded like it was probably beating too fast.
Crap, I was losing it.

“Milena?” Alex prompted, eyeing me with obvious concern.

“You scare everyone!” I blurted.

He seemed puzzled by my assertion. “So?”

“
So
… so those guards were big … and scary-looking … and
really big
…” I rambled, “and … and they were scared of you.”

He raised one brow, tucking some errant strands of hair behind my left ear. “So you’d rather a lot of big, scary-looking guards
weren’t
scared of me? That’d make you feel safer?”

“No …
maybe
… I don’t know …” I faltered as my own brows joined in consternation. Alex seemed to be putting forth a valiant effort to curb his mounting frustration. He tipped my face up to meet his scrutiny as I continued to babble nonsensically, “I mean …
no
… probably not … I don’t know …”

“Just tell me what’s wrong, Milena.”

Shit, what
wasn’t
wrong? I heard my heart rate kick up another notch. I knew Alex had heard it too. I could sense his stress, his level of concern rising despite his composed façade.

“I can hear my own heartbeat! And I was smelling everyone’s fear the whole walk to the kitchen. I’m that clichéd gangster girlfriend who gets killed!” I exclaimed out of left field.

“Okay,
o-kay
,” he whispered, his long fingers slipping into the hair at the base of my skull to comb back and forth. “I need you to dial it down a notch so I can make sense of all this.” His voice was kind. I could tell he was trying to hold onto his non-existent patience for me. “Think you can do that?”

I considered it, then shook my head in the negative.

“May I then? If you’ll refrain from fighting me, I can be in and out before you know it.”

I nodded, wanting him to just fix it for me. I didn’t think I was capable of relaxing on my own at this point, as I felt on the verge of something akin to a panic attack.
Though truthfully, I wasn’t exactly sure what one of those was.

I never felt his entry, but a blessed wave of calm enveloped me, and I released a long sigh as the tension eased from my body. I listened contentedly as my heartbeat steadily slowed to normal. I sagged forward into him and allowed my eyes to shut as he drew me closer, his arms wrapping around me, his hand burying in my hair and holding me in place where my cheek pillowed against his smooth, solid chest.

“That’s better,” he approved, exhaling a tension-filled breath of his own, “so much fucking better.”

I had to agree. It
was
so much better. I felt great. So completely relaxed. Safe. Whole.

Whole? Safe?
With sick fascination I realized I hadn’t minded allowing him access to my head just now. I’d welcomed it! And it felt oddly … natural having him control my heart rate.
Fuck me, I was suffering Stockholm syndrome already.

I reasoned my brain was simply confused because he’d asked permission before entering this time, thus providing me a false sense of safety and control over the situation. But perhaps I’d grown dangerously accustomed to relying on his presence in my head during my recovery over the last day and a half? Maybe … just
maybe
hearing and feeling him inside my head had comforted me far more than I wanted to admit it had. Either way, it was bad.
Wrong on multiple levels
.