The Better to Bite(15)

Nice. I managed to hold back my own compliment. Barely. I was working on the blurting tendency.

He pulled on his helmet, and the motorcycle flew forward.

I held on as tight as I could, and I realized I was smiling.

Faces passed me in a quick blur. Cassidy, Jenny, Valerie, Troy—then we were out of the parking lot, and Rafe drove us along the snaking curves that led back to my house. The wind whipped against my body, and I felt so good that I wanted to laugh. Riding free, fast, oh, it was perfect, so good.

The woods surrounded the rode, sometimes thickening so much that it seemed as if we were traveling through a tree tunnel. Light dimmed as the sunlight became trapped in the tops of the trees. And still the motorcycle ate up the road.

He eased into Deadman’s Bend—Jenny had told me it was called that cause of all the accidents there late at night—but Rafe pulled out easily with a perfect slide, and kept driving fast.

I didn’t talk. No point in it then with the wind roaring around us. I just held on, and I didn’t worry about a thing&helip;

Or, at least, I didn't worry, not until the motorcycle slowed down, and Rafe turned onto an old dirt road. A road that didn’t lead to my house, a road that seemed to lead right into the woods.

Don’t go into the woods.

He braked, killed the engine, and yanked off his helmet.

He glanced at me with a glittering gaze. “We need to talk.”

Um, right. I was getting that. I took off my helmet, much more slowly than he had. “I-I thought you were taking me home.”

“I am.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “But first I need to ask you something.”

Even the birds seemed to have stopped chirping. “Ask.” My heart beat too hard in my chest.

His gaze searched mine. “You were bleeding when I found you the other day.”

I nodded. I hadn’t expected that question.

“Were you bitten?”

Why, was he going to take me in for a rabies shot?

“Were you bitten?” Seated together on the motorcycle, he had to be close to me. Only inches separated our faces. The gold in his eyes looked darker than before.

“No, no, I wasn’t.” My voice sounded a little husky.

“Are you sure?” There was a hard intensity in his voice and eyes. “This is real important, and I have to know the truth.”

Fine, fine. I yanked up my sleeve and showed him my bandage. “Just a claw mark, okay? His claws caught me when I fell—”

He grabbed my arm—in a very, very fast move—and pulled the bandage off in an instant.

“Hey!” I snapped. “What are you—”

“Claws.” His breath rasped out in what could have been a relieved sigh.

I peered at my arm. The marks weren’t as red now. The lines actually seemed to have shrunk a bit. Still raised though. Each mark was a couple of inches long.

“I’m not getting rabies or anything, okay? You don’t have to worry about—”

“I wasn’t worrying about rabies.” His fingers smoothed over my arm. His fingertips felt a little rough, like he had calluses on them.

I swallowed. “Then what? What’s the big deal?”

But he only shook his head. The guy had some extremely long lashes. I couldn’t help but notice since we were kissing close.

He pulled away a bit, putting some space between us.

I took a quick breath and could have sworn I tasted him.

“So…” And I climbed off the bike. I could do the space routine, too. I walked a few feet away. “Is that the only question you wanted to ask me?”

“No.”

I waited. Look at me not blurting anything, just waiting. I was making some serious progress.

“Why are you going out with Brent Peters?”

I rocked back a bit on my heels. Was he jealous? Maybe. Maybe not. “Because I want to?”

He kicked down the stand and climbed off the motorcycle. “You need to be careful around him.”

“What is up with people giving me warnings in this town?” Now I was annoyed. “This is gonna come as a shock, but I can actually take care of myself.” I had my black belt in Karate. My dad had made sure I knew how to defend myself at an early age. I might look small, but I could pack a mean punch.

And all that nice, personal space I’d put between us? He eliminated it in like two seconds. He caught my arm, his hold gentle despite the roughness of his fingertips. His hand rested just below my wound. “You sure about that? Maybe you were a bad ass back home,” his tone said he doubted that, “but, Chicago, I think you are way out of your element here.”

My chin—one that was perhaps a little too pointed—lifted. “You don’t know my element.”