fighter. He would be beautiful to watch. Intense. Vicious. Mmm.
“Did you fight dirty growing up?” Sorin asked.
She nodded distractedly. “Fuck, yeah. There was no below the belt when someone came after me. In my neighborhood, the weak were pecked at until there was nothing left but tears and bones. You became a target; first time out you either went for the kill or—”
Yasmeen snapped her flapping trap shut before she could finish. What the hell? She was slipping further and further away from who she now was, falling into a comfort zone that couldn’t be more dangerous around these men. If she wasn’t careful, they were going to know her. For Christ’s sake, she was standing in front of a bell tower in a small, spooky town in the middle of Romania, sharing details of her shitty trip out of the gutter. Feeling a camaraderie with Sorin because he’d mentioned a stupid fist fight.
She straightened her spine and slipped her hands into the pockets of her cape. “Anyway, your scuffle with a rich, spoiled Lucian isn’t the same thing as us girls fighting off the thugs in our neighborhood. The guys had a bad habit of trying to have sex with those of us who had no one who’d come around after and kick their asses for not thinking about that little thing called consent.” She brushed past him and climbed a set of stairs. At the top, she turned and looked out over the area. She wished she had her phone. She’d have snapped a picture.
“That is something I would ask you to share with Lucian. When he hears about those boys who are now men, he will ask for names. I would be pleased to lead a team to their homes, and if you would like, I will record their castration so you will have something to watch anytime you remember your less than stellar past.”
Aw, shit. She melted like an ice cream cone in July. Why did she have to respect their way of dealing? Why didn’t it shock her and make her want to run through the streets screaming about castrating murderers?
“Fine. Get up here.” He came up the last couple of stairs and she looped her arm through his. “You’re making it very difficult not to like you, you savage.”
He pulled away from her. “Do not touch me, Ms. Michaels. Lucian would not approve.”
“Oh. Uh, sorry.” She squinted and pretended a sudden interest in the other tourists bundled up and wandering around hoping to spot Dracula. “I can get handsy when I feel comfortable with someone.” She craved human contact. Always had. But she’d rarely gotten the kind she needed. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I am well aware of that. But Lucian would not approve,” he repeated, his tone as apologetic as the pat he gave her shoulder.
She nodded and attempted to block the loneliness she could feel skirting around her ankles. “Why did you ask about my childhood?”
“I was told if you talked about yourself I should encourage you and get as much information as I could.”
She tipped her head and gawked at him as big snowflakes began to fall. “How can you stand there and admit that?” She should probably appreciate that he and Lucian were both so straightforward. She’d never be left wondering. But it made her uneasy. Their…openness. She didn’t offer shit to anyone unless they had a badge and a goddamn good reason for asking. Well, normally she didn’t.
He shrugged. “As Lucian often says; anything but the truth eventually becomes a nuisance. You must know by now he can be brutally honest.”
“Hurtfully so.”
“I would suggest you are the same during your time together. Do not pretend. And do not lie to him, Ms. Michaels, because I can guarantee you would only do so once.”
TWELVE
Lucian stood at the front window in his office, his hands clasped behind his back, the conference call he was in the middle of now on hold. His focus was on the entrance to the lane leading off the drive. The last three hours had been productive but unenjoyable. The next two would be the opposite, he vowed just as the front end of the Bentley came into view.
The knots twisting his muscles loosened, and a slow breath passed through his lips.
Safe.
He clasped his wrist tighter as the word whispered through his mind. When had this woman’s well-being become so important? It shouldn’t be. She should be replaceable.
Yet she wasn’t. There was not one female body