Kyla’s eyes darted back to him, confused, and then her gaze moved back to Joe. Tristan’s eyes followed, then he moved swiftly behind her, leaning directly against her back and circled her waist with his arms possessively. She craned her neck to look up at him. He was staring steel-eyed down at Joe, whose fangs had already receded. The look on Tristan’s face was absolutely menacing.
Tristan’s fangs shot out. He lifted Kyla’s chin off to the other side a little and sank his teeth into her throat right beside yesterday’s wound. She was paralyzed with fear and her veins started to hum as he drank. He drank just a small amount and then kissed her throat and let go, then looked back down at Joe, baring blood-drenched teeth and looking even more fearsome than she’d seen him look so far. Kyla’s body was rigid with tension, feeling sheer terror at the show of dominance. Tristan clutched her against his body possessively. She could feel his erection poking her lower back. He inhaled at her hair and exhaled slowly. Joe’s head dropped to his chest, clearly a sign of submission. The scene seemed so… primitive.
Tristan squeezed her shoulders reassuringly, flicked his tongue across the neck puncture wound, kissed it again, and then let go of her and grasped the railing with one hand and then swiftly jumped over the balcony as if it was a hurdle. He landed softly on his feet and sauntered to Joe. Kyla was flabbergasted at the move and was white knuckled, gripping the railing to keep herself upright because her knees were buckling.
Tristan pushed Joe up against the stone wall and had Joe’s throat in his grip. He spoke slowly to him. Kyla couldn’t make out what he was saying but he looked so dominant, so much bigger and stronger than Joe, and Joe wasn’t a small or meek-looking guy. At all!
After a moment he let go and Joe shuffled into the house with his head down, looking almost like a scolded child or a dog heading off with his tail between the legs. Tristan strolled, nonchalantly, to below where she was and jumped up and grabbed the bottom of the terrace railing with one arm and then hoisted himself up and then back over the railing, almost effortlessly, like an Olympic gymnast or a comic book superhero. Kyla was frozen in place, in shock, but her whole body was trembling.
Tristan’s fangs were still out but when he reached her, he took her shoulders and turned her to face him. They retracted slowly.
He stared directly into her eyes, “He needed to know that you’re mine.” The anger started to smooth out and his gaze softened. He touched her throat. He was fingering those marks now with a look on his face that she couldn’t quite read. Was it pride, smugness? He reached up for the knot of hair on top of her head and undid it so her curls cascaded down around her shoulders. Then he tangled his fingers with the length and pulled her close as if to kiss her.
She leaned away from him, blinked at him several times in quick succession, confounded, “I’m not.”
“Would you rather be his?” he spat, annoyed.
She winced, wanting to curl up into herself and disappear.
“Look at me,” he demanded. She closed her eyes and let out a series of staggered breaths, not wanting to get caught in those intense blue headlights again. He leaned forward and kissed each eyelid softly and took her face by the chin, one hand still in her hair.
“Please look at me,” he said, his voice softer.
She stayed still.
“Will you ever pick the easy way?”
She opened her eyes. Her breath caught at the expression on his face, at the timbre of his voice. She shook her head, “Probably not.”
He inhaled again and rolled his eyes, “Stay with me and don’t try to get away. Just… let me figure things out and then we’ll take it from there. Okay? He needed to see me mark you as mine. Now he won’t dare bare his teeth in front of you. I’ll protect you.”
He kissed her quickly on the mouth, “Okay?” Fingers woven into her hair on both sides now, he held her jaw between his hands as he kissed her softly again. She didn’t respond with her lips but opened her eyes and let out a sigh when she saw how his eyes were smoldering, like they were pleading with her.
“Mark me as yours? But I’m not yours, Tristan,” she whispered, “and who’s gonna protect me from you?”
He let go of her and lifted his hand over his heart and gave her a little pout like she’d wounded him. She folded her arms, trying to ignore the goose bumps all over her skin. She had recently agreed with a conversation by a group of her work friends at the bar who had a lengthy chat about the fact that getting kissed by a guy who held your head or face in his hands while he kissed you was a fairy tale, happily ever after kiss; probably the most romantic way to be kissed, and Tristan had just kissed her that way. Almost everything about him screamed sex and romance. But to Kyla it also screamed Danger!