Heartless

❆ Twelve ❆

Twelve

A fire crackled in the hearth. Embers shot from the logs and landed on the tiles. I sat on the lounge in the very center, taking in the very plain decor of the room. His room was painted a deep red, the furniture one of two shades: black or red. The dark posts of the king-sized bed held up a crimson canopy that was only slightly transparent. Papers were skewed over the disheveled comforter and messily stacked on the large desk in the corner. Books lay scattered on almost every inch of the floor, making it difficult to walk.

I felt his eyes on me and shifted on the chair. He leaned back against the foot of his bed for a moment, then got up to dig in a separate drawer in the desk. Glass clinked. He brought up a decanter of brown liquid and two crystal cups. "Would you like a drink?" He poured two glasses without letting me reply.

I stared at the brown elixir and scrunched my nose. "My parents never let us drink alcohol. I don't think I'd care for it very much." I looked up at him.

He pursed his lips. "Good thing it's just tea, then." He arched a brow at me and raised his glass, tipping it back and swallowing. I brought the cup to my lips and sniffed. It was definitely not alcohol, but it wasn't a tea I'd ever smelled before. Of course it's not; this stuff is actually real. I sipped gingerly. Tastes exploded over my tongue in a mix of spiced euphoria. I downed it within seconds, instantly wishing for more. I glanced up to find him nodding. "Now you know why I have my own stash." He set the decanter down and sat down on the edge of the desk, watching me carefully. I averted my gaze elsewhere so he wouldn't catch me ogling his exposed body again. I'd grown up with boys my entire life, I knew what they looked like. But somehow this was felt different. Intimate. Forbidden.

"You came here to talk," he abruptly said, pulling me from my reverie. "So talk."

Swallowing, I set the glass down and fumbled with my hands in my lap. "I'm sorry." His eyebrow slowly rose on his forehead, the suspicion and astonishment clear in his silver eyes. A long pause ensued after my confession. I could feel my cheeks growing warmer, and not from the fire. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter, trying not to sound as scared as I felt. "I appreciate what you've done for my brothers and what you've done for me. And for saving me from..." I broke off. The images of the wolves tearing into me made me shudder.

His yawn brought me back to the present. He shuffled from the desk over to the fireplace, prodding it with the stoker. It coughed out more embers and pops. He didn't even flinch, turning back to me with a hard look of exhaustion and boredom. "Is that all?"

My chest caved. All? Wasn't he going to say anything? I shrugged timidly. "Yeah, I guess it is." Setting the glass down, I stood and stepped over the mounds of books. I paused halfway to the door. "Actually, no." I spun back to face him. Summoning the anger and strength I'd kept with me since meeting him, I lifted my chin and stared him straight in the eye. "I just apologized for being rude, the least you could do is say something for your behavior."

He stifled a dry laugh. "My behavior? And what exactly would that be? Should I apologize for saving your life?"

I ground my teeth together, clenching my fists at my sides. "No, but—"

He shot upright and towered over me, silver eyes glazed over with dark clouds of anger. "Should I apologize for opening my home to you? Should I say I'm sorry for giving you a place to stay and giving your brother every drop of medicine I had?" I sputtered a weak reply, but he ignored me entirely. "What part do you want me to apologize for, Adaira? Because I think I've been pretty generous to someone who can't even be bothered to say a single thank you, much less control her temper." My back pressed against the solid wood of the door. He loomed closer, angry breaths beating on my face.