Page 13 of Protect Me
I don’t answer, momentarily distracted. His sleeves have ridden up to reveal thick tattoos that color his wrists and disappear beneath his shirtsleeves. I wonder briefly what they are and how far up his body they go. But then I catch myself and quickly look back at the tray instead.
No good can come of wondering.
Or, worse, looking.
“Whatever,” I mumble and force myself to take a bite.
The soup is good. I taste vegetables and a hint of chicken, but mostly it’s a heavy broth; warm and comforting. Killian doesn’t say another word as I shove spoonfuls of the stuff into my mouth. I’ve eaten nearly all of it before I even remember I’m being watched. Suddenly, the feel of his gaze prickles my skin, and I look up again, my face heating.
“What?” I snap.
“What are you?” he asks, and the directness of his question catches me off guard.
“What areyou?” I shoot back.
“Lion shifter. You want to see?”
I roll my eyes even as my heart thuds. Lion? Wow. I’ve never seen a predator that huge up close, and here he is offering. But I know better. He’s fucking with me. I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.
“What are you?” he repeats.
“Sleepy,” I say pointedly, setting the spoon aside and shoving the tray back.
“You don’t trust me, fine,” he says with a shrug. “But my pride and I are the reason you’re not dead or worse. That’s not nothing.”
He’s right, of course. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to spill my secrets.”
“Can’t blame you there. But you should know the Ringmaster doesn’t do well with secrets. Not under his roof. And you currently have even more than he does.”
“You do everything the Ringmaster says?”
I mean it as an insult, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the least. “I owe D my life,” he says quietly. “And because of that debt and the respect I have for him, I will protect him. Even from you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Mostly because my heart twinges with jealousy. What would it be like to have someone protect me that way?
I’ll never know, so I shove it aside.
“I’m not a threat,” I say, “Not to you or to the Ringmaster.”
“Maybe not directly. But whoever’s after you isn’t going to stop, are they?”
I look down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right. A damned floor did this to you. I forgot.”
He stands, grabs the tray, and deposits it on the counter. When he starts for the door, I wrench my gaze up, startled and panicked.
“You’re leaving?” I blurt.
With one glance at me, his expression softens. “I won’t be far, love. You’re safe here.”
I can’t bring myself to acknowledge my fear—the fear he’s so easily spotted anyway—so I just nod and fold my hands tightly together.
His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer.
Finally, he clears his throat.
“I’ll let you rest.” He turns for the door, and even in my drugged state, I sense a hesitance. Like he doesn’t really want to leave yet. But he does. And when I’m alone, I find I’m too tired to be scared after all.