Angel Blood

27- He's Mine (18+)

18+

I stare at the door helplessly, palms damp with sweat. All the locks are in place but the fact does nothing to calm the unease that rages in my chest.

It's silent for a long moment. Then the doorknob jiggles.

My eyebrows draw together. "What is he—?" Something clicks in the door and I barely have time to throw my back in front of it before it starts to swing open.

"Calliope," his dark rumble slides through the crack as he strains to push open the wood. "Open the goddamn door."

The sound of his voice sends a flurry of emotion through my chest. A mixture of fear and rage wins out as I grit my teeth and dig my heels into the rug. "Go away!"

He mutters out a curse. "I'm trying not to hurt you."

"Concerned for my well-being? How generous of you."

Sin makes a peeved sound in the back of his throat. "Now's your time to back up."

That makes me blink nervously. "What?"

I scramble to gain my footing as the pressure on the other side eases, but any balance I'm able to find is erased as a cracking sound thunders through the wood and sends me flying forward. I flip on my back just as the door pushes open and a very disheveled and furious looking Sinclair glares down at me.

The sight of his face sends a fresh wave of hurt through my chest. Somehow, a tiny thread of relief weasels its way in as well. As much as I hate to admit it, I've felt like a part of me has been missing without his presence.

He takes a step forward and I scramble to scoot backward, hands grabbing for the nearest object—in this case, my dirt-caked black heel.

Sin snorts and leans down to grab my wrist. "Really? A shoe?"

I wait until he's so close I can feel the heat of his body radiate into my legs and then throw the stiletto at his chest. He catches it effortlessly midair, so distracted with scowling at the object that he doesn't notice that my fist has knocked back and begun dissension on his face.

It connects with his nose, pain radiating up my arm as he scrambles back a few steps and clutches a hand to the still-whole but reddened cartilage.

"Christ." He rubs the bridge, looking furious but slightly impressed. "Sometimes I forget what a violent little thing you are."

I grab the other shoe and raise it threateningly. My hand throbs with the beat of my heart and I know without a doubt that my already bruised knuckles will be an unpleasant shade of purple by morning. "Back up a few steps, shithead." My eyes narrow on the open front door before shooting back up to him. "Since when do you know how to pick locks?"

Sin's face stretches into a smile so cold it sends a shiver down my spine. He drops his hand from his face and into his pocket, digging out a small silver key. "I don't."

The shoe falters in my grip as I stare at it. It's then that I notice the splattering of crimson across his forearm and the top of his left thigh. My eyes widen. "Is that blood?"

He shrugs an unconcerned shoulder before shoving the key back into his jeans and taking another step forward. "Not mine."

Jesus. I suppress the shiver that itches to roll down my spine.

"You killed the motel manager?" I think of the small middle-aged man behind the yellowing desk and how his eyes kept wandering down to peek at my cleavage.

"No," he says, but then pauses thoughtfully. "Well, he's probably still alive."

My lips pull into a thin line, eyes instinctively wandering over his lean form. Besides the dirt and crimson covering his clothing and the stray strands of hair escaping his bun, he looks unharmed.