3—”
The door swung open to a very pissed off looking Gabriel. His eyebrows were puckered into a frown and his hair was disheveled as though he’d just had a vicious battle with a pigeon and lost the fight.
“This isn’t a good time, Jemma,” he said, holding the door open with one hand and hugging himself with the other arm. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was sick with the flu. But vampires didn’t get the flu.
“You look terrible.”
“I am aware,” he said without making eye contact.
“What’s going on? Are you sick or something?” I tried to pass through the threshold though his body remained like solid concrete, dutifully blocking my entrance.
With one foot inside the door, I looked up at him and grimaced. What the heck was his problem? Inspecting him further, I noticed his nostrils were flaring and he was looking down and away from my direction, like I was giving off some kind of foul smell. Which I totally wasn’t.
“Gabriel? What is it?” I tried to pick up his chin to make him look at me, but he shoved my hand away.
“Please. Go. Now,” he gritted out, still not looking at me. “Everything is fine. I will call you later.” He took a step back and tried to swing the door shut, though I swiftly kicked my foot out and stopped him.
“Either you let me in and tell me what’s going on or…” I shook my head. “There is no or. I’m coming inside,” I snapped, grunting loudly as I shoved and squeezed my way past his rude ass.
Once inside, I shot a quick gaze around the room to make sure it was all clear and then turned to face him. He was still standing by the open apartment door, facing the corridor with his back muscles rigid and his head dropped low.
“Gabriel, will you please shut the door and tell me what’s going on? You’re freaking me out,” I said, feeling the air thicken with unease as I continued to take in his odd behavior. “Is this about last night? Are you—”
He slammed the door shut and then moved his hand to the deadbolt. His fingers hovered over it as if debating whether to lock it or not. After a brief pause, he dropped his hand to his side. “This is not a good time, Jemma.”
“Yeah, you already said that,” I pointed out impatiently. “Will you please look at me?” I asked and then reached my hand out to touch his shoulder.
Before I had a chance to connect, Gabriel had spun on me, his hand gripping my throat as he swung us in a circle and pushed me back against the front door. My heart pounded against my rib cage as I took in his dilated pupils—the inky black stretching so far into his green iris’ that not a spec of color remained. Shit.
I knew that look.
It was the look of full-on bloodlust.
Panic shot down my spine as my fingers dug into his wrist, scratching and clawing at his skin as I tried to dislodge his hold on my neck. “Gabriel! Stop it! Let me go!” I choked out, horror and anger distorting the sound of my voice.
As if snapping out of a daze, his pupils retracted, revealing his beautiful, regretful moss-green eyes. He yanked his hand away, clutching it to his stomach as though he had zero control over the limb.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled, coughing as I tried to refill my lungs with air. Without even waiting for an answer, I rushed over to him and rammed my knee into his balls.
He let out a painful grunt and then folded over. It wasn’t my finest or most mature moment, but it did make me feel better.
“Now we’re even,” I bit out as I walked around him and made my way into the living room, rubbing at my neck as I tried to absorb what had just happened. Something was very wrong. This wasn’t the Gabriel I knew; that much was clear, but I wasn’t about to give him a free pass either. “If you ever put your hands on me again—”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, still holding his balls or his arm—I couldn’t really tell from where I was standing. “I’m not well, Jemma. I’m not myself right now.”
“You don’t say? I hadn’t noticed,” I snapped sarcastically and then rolled my eyes even though he was still facing the door. “What the hell is going on, Gabriel? Start talking.