The Sleeper's Harp (The Arcane Artifacts, #1)

Chapter 6 - Self Control

When Eleanor appeared in the doorway, heading towards Bastian, something had changed. She stood taller, walked with confidence, right up to him. This was the female he'd seen in the cage earlier, the one that managed to capture every eye in Vortex, the one that dripped sex and demanded notice. This was the female that had snared his attention and held it, captivated him, and had him questioning all of his rules.

"Fine," she said, her voice pitching low, seductive. "Why don't you show me to my room, then?"

He hesitated, eying her, careful to keep himself in check. Her chest was flushed. He didn't want to fixate on that, or the way her pulse jumped in her neck. Especially not the way those hazel eyes dilated as she stared at him.

"Right. Fine, follow me." Turning his back to her, putting her out of sight, offered immediate relief. He inhaled and faltered. Fuck. Maybe this had been an awful idea. He braced himself, continuing towards the door midway between the foyer and kitchen. What he smelled...

He all but slammed open the door, revealing the downstairs guest suite. Then he moved aside, putting distance between them. "There's an extra toothbrush and...other things in the bathroom. You should have everything you need." He backed up, intent on fleeing.

She lifted an eyebrow, then glanced down at herself. "Oh...kay? And what about PJs? I certainly hope you don't expect me to sleep in this. I suppose I could sleep naked?" At this, the corner of her mouth tripped up.

He ignored the way his heart jumped.

"Just 'cause I said you were cute, Sugar, didn't mean I wanted you hitting on me," he growled, failing to hide the roughness in his voice or the bite to his words. That she was, was unexpected. Flattering, even, in a way that it shouldn't have been. Plenty of women—and men, for that matter—hit on him.

So...why was it different with her?

She'd challenged him all evening. That's why his goblin blood rose to the occasion, eager to dominate, to tame, to claim. It didn't help that she was human, weak and soft. It especially didn't help that she'd been in danger earlier, and he'd felt driven to protect her. A dagger to the chest was far too easy a punishment for the male who'd tried to hurt her.

He never forgot a face and intended to do much worse once given the chance.

Eleanor's face fell, but she quickly smoothed the expression. Then she scoffed. "Is that what you think? That I'm hitting on you? Don't flatter yourself, Goblin. I don't do fuck boys. Sorry to disappoint." She sashayed into the room and turned to face him, crossing her arms.

Too fucking cute for her own good and he hated it. He had a job to do. Didn't need her distracting him.

He cleared his throat, ignored the heaviness that settled over him. "I'll get you something to wear," he bit out, turning on his heel, disappearing. The moment she was out of sight, he felt lighter. She might have enjoyed the insult, but he'd smelled her a minute ago. He knew the scent well enough, delighted in eliciting it from other females.

Despite that, her words had grown claws. He was, technically, a fuck boy. That she'd immediately assumed it, grated. He didn't do anything beyond casual sex. Couldn't afford to in his line of work.

Racing up the stairs, he swept into his room, clamping down on his emotions. Rifling through his drawers, he grabbed a pair of lounge pants with a drawstring she could tighten, then hesitated. Nope. He dropped them back into place and settled on one of his favorite T-shirts. It had nothing to do with his desire to see her in it. Nothing at all. It just happened to be the most comfortable one he owned. The least he could do was offer that luxury to her, given that she'd been through a lot.

His shoulders fell. She'd been though a lot. He hadn't even let himself consider that until just now.

If Professor Miller was indeed close with her, her death would have come as a shock. And then there was that moment dancing, when she'd seen the guy in the baseball cap and frozen. The same guy he'd caught trying to make off with her in the alley. Her story was full of holes. She'd deliberately left things out, like the fact that she'd definitely noticed the guy in the club before everything went down.

That piece of trash had tried to kidnap her, had broken her fucking wrist. He'd hurt her. That alone left Bastian's blood boiling. No, a blade to the chest had been far too tame. He'd find that asshole and make him suffer. Was tempted to go after him tonight, right this very minute, but...

He took a deep, steadying breath.

The thought of leaving Eleanor alone in his house—a house she couldn't believe was his, which had also annoyed him—left his throat dry. No, he wouldn't do that. Not when she was in a new place after the night she'd had.

He turned and left, heading back downstairs. She wasn't where he'd left her. Instead, she was moving around the room, inspecting her surroundings. "Here," he said, announcing himself. He tossed the T-shirt her way and made sure she caught it. She frowned down at it, then glanced up, lifting an eyebrow. He just shrugged and disappeared.

***

Sleep was nearly impossible. All he could think about was the cute female downstairs, pink hair and all, wearing his shirt—his fucking shirt—snuggled up in bed. "I don't do fuck boys." Those words kept replaying in his head. Damned if her denouncement didn't have the opposite effect he'd hoped for.

It should have shut him down. Case closed. She'd made her stance plenty clear, despite the arousal he'd smelled on her. That needed to be enough. And yet, it wasn't.

To distract himself, he forced his mind through the information she'd offered up. He'd never intentionally misjudged her, but he'd certainly been surprised to hear she'd been a master's student at WU. It wasn't that he thought her incapable—though, she seemed to believe that was exactly what he thought. On the contrary, she had a deep intelligence that was evident with a single look.

Eleanor was one of those people who caught him by surprise, repeatedly.

No way was he letting her slip through his fingers. There were still too many unanswered questions. Too much she was hiding. He didn't plan on releasing her until he'd wrung every secret from her. Until he'd tasted her lips, maybe even licked her cunt...

"Fuck!" he cursed and rolled over, punching his fucking pillow. That last thought shouldn't have invaded his mind. A low growl built in his chest. Fucking Eleanor. He'd known of her existence for three days, run background checks, infiltrated her life to track her down. He'd only laid eyes on her today, and that's all it took for this little female to burrow under his skin.

Mother fucking fuck.

No. He wasn't doing this. Instead, he formulated a plan for the morning, then forced himself to stop thinking about her, to stop thinking about how he'd be so much happier if he went downstairs, lifted her sleeping body into his arms, and carried her up here into his bed. Like a conquest.

He bolted upright and kicked the sheets away, getting to his feet. Growling, he started pacing back and forth like a caged animal. This wouldn't do. Losing control, his glamor fell away. His size increased. With it, his magic. His goblin form offered no relief, making him more possessive. His breathing turned raged.

"Get the fuck ahold of yourself," he half growled.

He literally forced himself back, putting distance between himself and the door. Clenching his teeth, making tight fists until his fingers ached and his claws broke into the skin of his palms, he pushed the urge down, got a handle on his magic, and at last, suppressed his form. Once more, his glamor settled over him like a second skin. When he finally fell back into bed, sleep found him at last.