"Darien?"
Darien freezes mid-step. Oh, for crying out loud.
You know what? It’s all cool. She’s just a lowly oga who apparently now owes you her life. Act cool. Act normal. He chants in his head.
Turning back, he tries to arrange his face into sothing... nonchalant and relaxed. He gives the kind of half-smile that, in his mind, says Of course I’m here. This is completely normal.
"Oh. You’re awake."
Her eyes snap open fully at the sound of his voice. The confusion in them sharpens into alarm, and her head whips around, scanning the room like she’s just realized she’s trapped inside a predator’s den.
"Where am I?" she demands, pushing herself up against the pillows with surprising speed. "And—why am I in the sa room with you?"
Argh! This nace of a girl!
The words are a slap to his dignity. What the hell? Did she think that he, Darien Bellamy, wants to be in the sa room with her? A fucking low-class oga like her?!
Hell!
Talk about ’The sa room with you’ like he’s so creep lurking over her bed. His temper sparks instantly.
"What the hell are you saying?" His voice cos out so hard, it might as well smash her head. But seriously? After what he just went through? That’s what he gets? Is she serious right now?!
"The right words here are thank you for saving your life."
He straightens his shoulders and starts pacing, partly to keep himself from barking at her again, partly because movent helps him channel the crackle of frustration. "I an, I could stand here all day listing my heroic achievents, but let’s just keep it short: you’re alive because of . You’re welco."
Her expression changes but not in the direction he expected.
Instead of gratitude, she goes still. Then her gaze drops to herself, to the loose cotton shirt and drawstring pants he’d put her in, and her hands start moving over her body; her waist, her shoulders, down her legs. The mont her fingertips skim the fabric, she gasps.
Her voice rises in horror. "Where’s my uniform?!" Her hands clutch the shirt as if it might vanish. Then her eyes snap to his face, wide and accusing. "Did you—did you change my clothes? That ans you saw..."
Darien’s brain short-circuits. Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no.
He throws his hands up. "Are you insane?!" His tone leaps into sheer disbelief. "Do you really think I...? You...?!" Words fail him, his tongue tripping over outrage.
This girl. This actual nace to his blood pressure.
"Weren’t you the one calling after getting yourself in trouble?" he fires back, jabbing a finger toward her like the accusation itself should clear his na.
Her brows knit. The sharpness in her eyes wavers for the first ti, like the gears are turning behind them. Well, they should!
"The traffickers..." she says slowly, the mory sparking.
"Exactly." He folds his arms, leaning a shoulder against the doorfra with the satisfaction of a man who knows he’s right. "You were probably on your way to the study—like I specifically asked you to when you decided to start your own little adventure."
"I didn’t decide anything," she interjects quickly. "They started chasing ..."
"And they caught you. Caught you, trashed you, and you would’ve been dead if I hadn’t stepped in. You’re welco. Again." He cuts in, laying emphasis on every word.
The realization finally settles over her face. He can see the flicker or epiphany. She exhales slowly, so of the fight leaving her shoulders. "Right." Her voice softens, and almost grudgingly, she murmurs, "Thank you."
It’s about ti. He feels the corner of his mouth twitch upward. He could leave it there... let the nonchalant, hero-in-the-dark vibe sink in.
But no. Of course not.
"But where is this?" she asks, looking around the room as if the expensive carved wood and massive bed are part of so evil plot. "Why did you bring here? Why didn’t you take ho?"
What?!
His jaw drops, shoulders jerking back like she’s just thrown water in his face. "I cannot believe your guts."
She ets his stare without flinching.
"Why," he says, each syllable sharp, "should I go through the trouble of dragging you ho after everything I just did?"
She tilts her head, as if she’s actually considering the question, then counters, "Then why bring here?"
That one hits like a sucker punch to his logic. He opens his mouth, closes it again, then finally says, "Because...,! Because I’m not hauling you around in the open like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the day!"
Her eyes flick away, troubled. "Mrs. Castell’s going to have my head," she mutters. "I still have chores to do..."
"Oh, you’re worried about chores now?" His voice spikes incredulously.
"Yes," she says flatly.
He drags a hand down his face, biting back a laugh that’s more frustration than amusent. "You can’t go anywhere right now unless you want to be in even more trouble. If you wait until it’s inky dark, I can sneak you out. Otherwise, getting caught here in the Alpha’s estate without an appointnt will be ten tis worse than showing up ho late."
She opens her mouth to argue again, but he can already feel the headache building at the base of his skull. And this... is just the beginning.
"Why on earth would I need an appointnt when it was you who brought here in the first place?" The words finally leave her mouth and Darien’s jaw drops yet again.
Oh, by the goddess, she’s—she’s unbelievable!
What sort of girl is this?! Darien has never seen a more obnoxious female! Grayson and Morgan were right; she deserves to be punished.
His eyes narrow, heat licking up his spine as an idea sparks in there. Slowly, a plan blossoms in his mind... one that’ll have her squirming and calling him master in a matter of minutes.
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