Page 9 of Havenfall Harbor
I avert my gaze so I’m not tempted to stare, and plaster that stupid grin you get when you pass someone on the street—the one that makes you look slightly unhinged and like an idiot at the same time, yeah, that one—on my face.
I drop the awkward expression and extend my hand, although it kind of looks like he’s ignoring the fact that I’m even in the elevator. The doors start to slide closed as I say, “Hi, I’m Quinn.”
I watch as the man’s hand balls into a fist before he releases it and reaches for my open palm. His fingers are cool as they cover mine. “Griffin,” he rasps. His voice is thick, as if he hasn’t spoken in a while.
He holds my hand for just a beat longer than I would consider polite. My heart gives a hard kick in my chest when I peer up into his impossibly light eyes. When he does release my palm, I wring my fingers together and the elevator begins to rise. I’m not sure if the dip in my stomach is from the motion, or the man standing next to me.
I’m slightly embarrassed that I’m having such a visceral response to how attractive he is. I look away when Griffin’s head tilts to the side and his pupils expand. I need to remember I’m going to be spending a lot more time with people who can sense more than your average human.
I feel another dip in my stomach with the arrival of the elevator on the third floor. I take a rushed step toward the doors before they can even slide open. “It was nice meeting you, Griffin,” I mumble, and shoot through the gap, turning to the side to get out faster.
I turn to the right when I should have turned left. “Damn,” I mutter as I right myself, only to slam right into a hard chest. Griffin’s hands come up to brace my upper arms and to keep me from bouncing off him.
“Got turned around,” I say, while I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I step back and around Griffin, never once looking at his face as I make my way down to my room.
The key trembles slightly as I slide it into the lock. As soon as I’m inside, I let my back fall to the door and hang my head. “Real cool, Quinn.” I rub my hand over my face, hoping some of the embarrassment I felt will be wiped away with it. I release a small groan and push off the door, my keys still clutched in my other hand.
Deciding there’s nothing I can do but put the moment behind me, I take another look around. I was in a hurry earlier when Alice brought me up so I could drop off my luggage. The small kitchenette catches my eye, and I notice something shiny twinkling on the counter. I don’t remember seeing that when I glanced around earlier. Forgetting all about the awkward encounter, I squint as I draw nearer. I can hear the sound of little splats as they drip to the floor. I round the counter a get a good look at a small pig lying near the sink with a large knife sticking out of its small body.
The splat of liquid jars me as another drop of watery pink blood spills to the floor. I’m so shocked it takes me longer than it should to wrap my mind around what I’m seeing. Balling up my fists, I take a step closer and notice how colorless the pig is, how it has a long, clean slice right up the middle.
I reach forward and pause right before my hand makes contact. This pig is long dead, it was prepared to be cooked, but it doesn’t make it any easier knowing that. At least someone didn’t kill it with the sole purpose of putting it here. Why would someone do this? I need to get rid of it.
I’m torn. I could call down to the kitchen, but I don’t want to make a big deal about this. As threatening as it seems to me, it might just be a welcome gesture from a shifter—the knife makes it feel somehow more threatening though.
I need to just throw it away. I look over at the rather small trash can, then back at the pig. It’s not big, but it would fill up the can, and what do I do with it after?
“Fuck!”
A heavy knock sounds on the door just as I mutter the curse. I spin and head back to the entrance. “Who is it?” I cringe at the airy tone in my voice. The pig has shaken me up, no matter how much I want to pretend it hasn’t.
“Griffin. Are you okay?” His voice starts out strong, but finishes softly, as if he can’t believe he’s even asking the question.
I blow out a breath and try to hide the shaking of my hand as I turn the knob to open the door. To speak to him through it would be ridiculously rude. “Yes, I’m fine. You?” I ask, wondering what he heard that would have him questioning if I was all right.
His light eyes scan over my face slowly. He’s examining me, and it makes me want to fidget, but I lock down my muscles so I don’t squirm. “I can smell blood.” His dark brows dip in the middle as he drags in a breath. Griffin places his hand on the door over my head and pushes it open.
He steps toward me, and I take an instinctual step back so he doesn’t collide with me, and mutter an affronted, “Hey,” but he ignores me, heading right into the kitchen. Supernaturals don’t have any obvious indicators telling you what species they are, but the blood comment makes me think vampire. “You shouldn’t just push your way into someone’s room.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at his back.
Griffin’s strides stop, and he slowly turns around to look at me. His head tilts to the side again as he studies me. “Having an invitation usually isn’t an issue for me.” He faces forward again, taking the final two steps that have him completely in the kitchen. He looks down at the pig splayed across my tiny countertop and his lips curl in a sneer of disgust. I don’t even care to examine his comment right now.
I’m aggravated that he barged into my room, questioning how much privacy I’m really going to have in a building with a bunch of supernatural beings that cannot only smell blood—from who knows how far away—but can probably hear much better than I can even comprehend. However, another part of me is a little relieved that I might have help finding a resolution to get rid of it—and figuring out what a dead pig on my counter means.
“I’m going to assume you didn’t plan on roasting an entire pig yourself.” Griffin slowly lifts his gaze so he’s staring at me from under his brow while his face is still turned down to the counter. His light eyes and dark hair make an arresting picture. I just bet he doesn’t have any problem getting an invitation into any place he wants to enter.
“No, roasted baby pig wasn’t part of my plans for this evening.”
“This is how you found it?” Griffin reaches for the knife handle protruding out from the carcass without taking his eyes off me.
“Yes, just a few moments ago.” I pull my hand out from under my arm and gesture to the counter. I feel heat invade my cheeks before I inquire, “I was wondering if it was a welcome gift.” I shrug one shoulder slightly, feeling silly for asking, but I want to know more than I’m concerned about how I look. Ultimately, I’m the intruder here. My intentions are pure, but I know supernaturals have had to deal with human prejudice for most of their lives. I’m hoping to ease the tensions between the species, not make shit worse because of a misunderstanding.
Griffin lowers his eyes. “No.” He lifts his arm and the knife pulls free with a slight sucking sound. I ignore it. “A tasteless prank, probably left by a student.” He doesn’t meet my gaze as he says it, and I have a feeling he’s not being honest.
I’ve been studying supernaturals since I was young, but who knows how much of what I’ve been learning is even true. I know I wouldn’t want to divulge my secrets to a bunch of prejudiced assholes who may use them against me.
“I’ll take care of this.” Griffin places the soiled knife into the sink, and it barely makes a sound as it connects with the basin.
“Thank you, I appreciate that. Do you know how they would have gotten in here? I mean, I know I locked my door.” I look behind me to the door in question, wondering now if maybe I didn’t.
