Page 34 of The Blood Witch
“Moon shits?” he repeats haughtily, an eyebrow raised in question.
“Yes, moon shits,” I defend as my fight-or-flight reflex tries to walk it off. “What are you doing?” I hiss at him, irritated that he just jump-scared me again.
“I need to talk to you. I was just about to knock when the door flew open. Where were you going?”
My inner hype girl squeals shyly and abandons me. Suddenly I don’t want to tell him that I was coming to talk to him.
Maturity at its finest.
“Um, I had to pee,” I blurt, and then Rogan’s judgy eyebrow gets even higher as he looks over to the door that leads into an ensuite bathroom. He knows this because every bedroom in this place has an attached bathroom.
Internally I facepalm.I wonder what it’s like to go through life and not be a raging idiot.Guess I’ll never know.
“What do you want, Rogan?” I ask instead, embracing my cowardice and flipping the script on him.
“I haven’t had a chance to see if you were okay after everything with my mother.”
I’m tempted to ask him what the hell that was about, but I’m pretty sure I already know. She was looking for leverage. I suspect she thinks she found it, which is laughable and dangerous for me. She’ll be very disappointed if she tries to use me to force Rogan’s hand. I’m painfully aware of how much I wouldn’t win that showdown.
“Did you know she was coming?” I press, surveying him as he looks around my room awkwardly.
“No. One of your guards tipped me off when I noticed that they weren’t where they were supposed to be. I asked why, and that’s when they told me that the High Priestess’s personal guard was with you. I got there about a minute before she broke the glass.”
I run my hand over the texture of the wall at my back, still pinned against it by Rogan’s arms. I should move away from him. I don’t.
“Were you going to see Saxon?” he asks me out of nowhere.
“Wh-what?” I stammer, thrown off guard. “No, he’s back in Tennessee.”
Rogan’s eyes study mine like he’s looking for something. I’m not sure what it is, but I just stare at him until he stops.
“He’s two floors down in a guest suite,” he informs me, and I’m taken aback by that revelation.
Why is he still here?
“You weren’t sneaking out to go see him?” Rogan accuses, and I balk at his insinuation.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Were you waiting outside to see if I was going to meet up with Saxon?” I ask incredulously.
A sheepish look overtakes Rogan’s face, and I have to stop my mouth from dropping open. “Holy shit, you were,” I accuse, shocked.
He doesn’t say anything.
“News flash, Rogan, if I wanted to fuck Saxon, I wouldn’t have to sneak out in the middle of the night to do it. What was your plan, anyway, order me back to my room?” I ask, shaking my head at how ridiculous he is.
“I didn’t have a plan,” he admits, leaning into me just a fraction more.
I stop breathing for a beat, searching his face for something that will tell me what all of this means. My body responds to his close proximity just like it always has, and I yearn to be tipped over the precarious edge I’m balancing on. Do I go with my mind, shut Rogan out, sever the bond, and flip him a pair of deuces as I leave him in my wake? Or do I trust my gut, give my body what it’s aching for, knowing that it’s going to burn hot and fast and probably scar me in the end?
I know there’s no happily ever after here, and yet I still can’t convince myself to walk away.
“What are you doing, Rogan?” I ask, and I’m not sure if I’m simply questioning what he’s doing right now, with his life, or if my question is really about us.
It’s clear he’s feeling some kind of way about things, but I have no idea what that is or if I really even want to know.
Who am I kidding, I want to know.
He breathes me in, his gaze tracing my features and then lifting back to meet my flustered stare. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly, like if he talks too loudly, it will scare whatever is happening away.
