Fracture (Blood & Roses #3-4) - Callie Hart Page 0,2
his friend over to you. Is that okay?”
Zeth nods approvingly, watching me squirm beneath him like a leopard might watch a mouse. Before it pounces on the mouse and devours it. Pippa goes silent on the other end of the phone. Even her breathing seems to stop, and I can imagine her stern face puckered into a frown as she sits at her desk.
“Please tell me I don’t need to have that conversation with you after all?”
“What conversation?”
Zeth pulls back, still watching me, backing up toward the kitchen island. He reaches out behind him, barely glancing to locate what he’s after, and then my throat swells up. His hand curves around a black handle—one belonging to the serrated meat knife that lives in the wooden block on my marble countertop. My heart doesn’t beat once during the long second it takes him to withdraw the blade, always watching me, never taking his eyes off me. A dark and sinister intent lurks in his eyes.
“The conversation I said we’d skip back in the coffee house, the one about you making smart choices. This is about that guy, isn’t it? You promised me you weren’t going to see him again, Sloane. He’s dangerous.”
He. Is. Dangerous.
He is approaching me with a terrifyingly sharp knife in his hand, and he looks seriously fucking dangerous. I press back into the wall, swallowing, blinking, clutching at the phone pressed up against my ear. I know he can hear what she’s saying on the phone, and Pip’s remark seems to have galvanized him toward some outcome I don’t even want to think about. “You’re wrong,” I breathe.
His torturously slow approach hesitates. With his head tilted to one side, only half a degree, easy to miss if you aren’t paying attention, he narrows his eyes, studying me.
“He’s just looking out for his friend. Why else would he be doing this? How can he be so bad if he cares for her so much?”
“Just because he cares for someone else doesn’t mean he won’t skin you alive and hack you into small pieces. You’re being incredibly naïve over this guy.”
“I’m not,” I whisper. He’s closer now, standing right in front of me. He takes hold of the hem of my T-shirt, gathering it carefully in gentle fingers. “I’m just choosing to be hopeful.”
“Naïve,” Zeth mouths, shaking his head again. I swallow down the building panic forcing its way up my throat, pulling in a deep breath. This is going to be okay. This is all going to be okay. A clever person might tell Pippa right here and now that Zeth Mayfair is holding them up at knifepoint in their kitchen, but something…something’s holding me back.
“Well,” Pippa says on the other end of the phone. “I’m really hoping that you’re not letting your lady parts rule your brain on this one. If I meet this guy and he’s smoking hot, then I know you’ve lost your mind.”
“Don’t worry, Pip.” Zeth takes the sharp edge of the knife and holds it to my T-shirt, barely touching the sharpened metal against the material; it parts like he’s tearing through wet paper. “He’s hideous,” I say into the phone. One single, dark eyebrow curves upward as he reacts to that. Bullshit.
“Playing with fire,” he tells me. I don’t think Pippa hears him, though. His voice is so low and laden with desire that I’m pretty sure I don’t really hear it. I feel it in my bones, burning its way inside me, branding me, charging me with electricity.
“I can see him tomorrow, okay? I have a half-hour spot open at two. If he’s late or he doesn’t show up then we’re done. I don’t trust him, Sloane, and I think you’re mad to even be talking with him. If I were you, I’d sever all ties and run like hell.”
The knife has cut a clean line all the way through my shirt; Zeth places it carefully onto the countertop beside me and then draws back the fabric, exposing my bare breasts. His eyes feast on me, lighting every square inch of me on fire.
“I don’t like your friend,” he growls. And then he dips his head and laps his tongue at my nipple, sucking the already swollen twist of flesh into his warm mouth. My knees want to buckle, but his solid body presses into mine, holding me up.
“Two o’clock. Got it. I’ll make sure he gets the message.”
“I’m more concerned about you getting this message, Sloane. Please tell me you’re hearing