blue pots. Among those things was a food processor. I cut an onion into big slices and put it in the food processor. The moment I pressed the “on” button, a weird hissing sound came from the freaking thing, followed by smoke.
“Oh, shit,” I muttered as I pressed the off button. But the thing didn’t stop. More smoke came from the food processor until sparks shot out from under the blades. I yelped and reached for the power cord, but as I pulled it from the outlet, another spark flashed from the thing, prickling my hand. I screamed as I cradled my hand against my chest. “Shit, shit, shit.”
The back door burst open, and for a moment, my heart stopped.
This was it. Slater was here, and he would take me.
Devon looked a little disheveled with his dark hair messed up by the wind. “What happened?” His eyes scanned the place, as if searching for an enemy. Then, his gaze found the smoking food processor, and my hand pressed against my chest. “What happened?” he asked again, his tone less urgent.
I frowned at him. “W-why are you here?”
Straightening to his full height—the guy had to be at least six-two—he ran a hand through his hair, pushing the longer strands back. “I was in my backyard. I heard your scream.”
“And you just burst inside someone else’s home when you hear a scream?”
His thick brows curled down. “Yes.”
With my good hand, I gestured toward the food processor. “As you can see, I had a little technical problem.”
“What about your hand?”
I glanced at my hand. My fingertips were a little red and raw, and they stung as if I had touched a hot pan. “I … I’m fine.”
In three long strides, Devon was right in front of me. He grabbed my hand. Taking in a lungful of air, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, then shook his head and stared at my hand.
What the hell was that?
“You should apply some burn cream to your fingers.” He looked around. “Where’s your first aid kit?”
I stared at him. What was his deal? I had seen him around his house a couple of times during the past week. He had even come over once when Lia asked for his help with the new dresser she had bought for my bedroom, and of course, she insisted he stay for dinner after.
The more I looked at him, the more I didn’t understand him. As far as I knew, he was twenty-one and lived alone. He had mentioned his parents had died, though he never had said how. But besides his shady past, there was probably something wrong with him, because how could he be alone? I wasn’t blind and I had to admit to myself he was too gorgeous for his own good. A magazine cover-worthy face with sharp angles that could cut with a glance; red, full lips, which I bet were good at kissing; enigmatic, dark eyes that bored holes into my soul. His silky hair was cut short, save for a few longer strands on top, which stubbornly fell over his forehead every few minutes. And as if his perfect face wasn’t enough, he was tall, with wide shoulders. His polo shirt fit his hard chest nicely, and his arms were corded with lean muscles. Handsome, hot, single, and discreet. How wasn’t that the perfect recipe to have at least a girlfriend?
Perhaps he had one, and he just hadn’t mentioned her yet.
I took a step back, bumping my waist on the kitchen counter, and he dropped my hand. “I’m fine. I can take care of this.”
“Kenna.” He reached for me again.
What the hell? Why was he being like this? Didn’t he know I wanted him gone? Our first night here, I had made a promise to myself. I would stay here without complaint for Lia’s sake, but I wouldn’t let anyone get close to us. If Slater found us, he would use them to hurt us. He would hurt them.
My distress and frustration got out of hand, making me lose control of my powers for a second. The kitchen lights flickered.
Devon looked up. “What was that?”
I took a deep breath, calming down. “I don’t know.” For good measure, I walked to the other side of the kitchen. I didn’t have plans to treat my burns, but so I had something to do, I grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet.
When I spied over my shoulder, I saw as Devon grabbed the book I