Page 32 of Reaper's Desire

How did I not see it before?

"Who the fuck are you?" My voice comes out shakier than I want it to. "Why are you following me?"

"You need to get out of here," he says, his accent thicker now, rougher. "Tonight."

"What?"

"You're not safe here."

I laugh, and it comes out short and shocked. "Not safe? You just nearly killed someone in front of me! You dragged me through the streets like—like—" I can't even finish the sentence.I can't find the words to articulate the mix of terror and confusion and shameful arousal churning inside me.

"That man could have hurt you," he says sharply. There's something in his voice—something almost like conviction—that makes me pause.

"Nikos? He was flirting with me. That's it. He wasn't going to?—"

"You don't know what he was going to do." He takes a step closer, and I press harder against the wall. "You don't know who's watching you. Who's waiting for the right moment."

"What are you talking about?" My voice rises, panic bleeding through. "What the fuck is going on?"

He runs a hand through his hair, and for the first time, I see something other than cold detachment in his expression. He looks frustrated. Conflicted.

Almost human again.

"You're in danger," he says finally. "Real danger. And you need to leave Greece. Now."

"Danger from who?" I demand. "From you?"

He doesn't answer, and the silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. My mind is racing, trying to piece together what's happening. The way he looked at me when I said my name in Ibiza. The way his hands moved to my throat. The way he ran.

And now this. Following me to Greece. Nearly killing a man for touching me. Telling me I'm in danger.

What the fuck is going on?

"I don't understand," I whisper, and I hate how small my voice sounds, how scared. "I don't understand any of this."

He takes another step closer, and I catch a whiff of his cologne and the sweat on his skin. He's close enough that I can see the stubble on his jaw, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. Close enough that I could reach out and touch him.

The thought sends a jolt of heat through me, a magnetic, animal pull that feels almost impossible to ignore. Despite everything about the way we left things and what happened tonight, if he kissed me right now, if he touched me, if he tried to fuck me up against this wall…

…I'd let him.

"You need to trust me," he says, his voice low and urgent. "I know you don't understand. I know you're scared. But you need to get out of here. Tonight. Before—" He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening.

"Before what?" I press. "Before you kill me?"

His eyes flash with something, but he shakes his head. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Then what?" My voice breaks. "What do you want from me?"

He stares at me for a long moment, and I see the conflict written across his face. "I want you to be safe."

The words hang in the air between us, and I don't know how to reconcile the man who just nearly killed someone with the man who's looking at me like he's trying to protect me.

"I don't believe you," I whisper.

"You should."

"Why?" I demand. "Why should I believe anything you say? I don't even know your name. I don't know who you are or why you're here or what the fuck you want from me."