Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,19
doorway. Fae by his scent. By his looks too. No one that gorgeous had an ounce of human blood in them. He was tall. I was five ten and had a view of his chin. Following the curve of his jaw, I slid my gaze across his high cheekbones to meet his eyes. They were black with silver rims around his irises. Infinite. I stared at him, and cold, heartless eternity stared back. I jerked my gaze away. Had to. Before it consumed me.
The rest of him was...not easier to look at...but I couldn’t stop gawking.
His hair was black as midnight and hung unbound to his waist. His flawless skin had a grayish cast, but not sickly. Nothing about him telegraphed weakness. He was almost monotonous. A study, not only in the black of his hair or the white of his lips, but in all the varying shades of gray.
He had answered the door wearing low-slung jeans in his bare feet. Even his toes fascinated me.
That I noticed his bare chest last surprised me almost as much as the ornate silver cuffs clamped around each of his biceps. Lean muscle rippled as he moved to cross his arms over the chest I had so openly admired. As my focus traveled down his torso, my gaze got hung up on his hipbones, on how low his pants hung, and the fact not a hint of elastic rode above the line of his faded jeans.
Boxers? Briefs? Commando? Never had I been more invested in a man’s choice of underwear.
The man in question cleared his throat.
The fire of a thousand suns burst across my face as I offered him my hand. “Hi.”
After a brief pause, he must have decided to allow me skin privileges, because he clasped my hand between his palms. His thumb rolled across my knuckles while the slightest corner of his lips curled.
“Hello,” he said, and his words rang through my bones.
An awkward moment passed while I debated how to get my hand back, if I even wanted it back. Some fae, especially older ones, had odd ideas about what such permissions meant. Too late to panic now. I had initiated contact. All the warnings hammered into my head flittered right out the window when I looked at him.
And his window was open. I saw it from here, once I tore my gaze from him and peered into his apartment. His empty apartment. Not one stick of furniture in sight. So what had made all the racket?
“I heard noises,” I finally managed. “I thought I would come up and...”
A mocking smile curved his lips. “Introduce yourself?”
“Yes.” I gave a test pull on my hand, and he released me.
He rubbed his fingers together as if savoring the sensation. “We’ve already met.”
“I think I would remember...” A flicker of connection locked my knees when all I wanted to do was turn and bolt. His voice. I should have recognized it. “You collected the Morrigan’s tithe from me.”
His black eyes gleamed. “I did indeed.”
Wishing I had my cell to call for backup, I demanded, “Who are you?”
“I am the Morrigan’s son.”
I drew up short. “Fae can’t lie.”
“Fae tell the truth so well it might as well be a lie,” he replied.
Tell me something I don’t know.
“Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say you are Raven.” I humored him. “What do you want from me?”
“Come inside where we can talk.” He promised, “I won’t hurt you.”
I stared past him and shivered. “Was it just me, or did I hear an unspoken you don’t have a choice in there?”
Short of tossing me over his shoulder, nothing was getting me inside that apartment.
A wisp of amusement lightened his voice. “I bring news of your father.”
Except maybe that.
“That’s why you’ve been hanging around me?”
“It is a matter of some delicacy, perhaps not best discussed out in the open.” He pushed the door wider and lowered his hand. “Even empty halls have ears.”
“This isn’t a trick to lure me inside so you can reap my soul and leave my body for the crows?”
Oh wait. He was the crow.
“No.” His laughter rang with silky promise. “You are safe from harm with me.”
What I heard between the lines was that he wouldn’t personally hurt me, which wasn’t the same as protecting me, and it didn’t rule out him enticing me into his apartment so someone else could do it for him.
He must have understood my predicament. His first real smile knocked the air from my lungs.
“Thierry Thackeray, I, son