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Shadowed, broad and high, the stone wasn’t quite a mountain, but still, it was more than a hill, as she’d heard it been called. It was there that he hid.
The sights of his rifle were trained on her, though he never took them from her face.
She could feel his eyes watching her, baiting her. He had every intention of coming for her. Soon. Just not yet.
She could feel his intent though. It hung heavy in the air around her, assuring her that he was still there.
He had been with her for more than a year now. No matter where she traveled, no matter how she tried to hide, she could feel him there somewhere, if not watching her, then searching for her. Since the day she had dared him to pull that infernal trigger, he had followed her. As though the very fact that she would defy him had somehow made him pause in pulling the trigger, made him take the time to figure something out about her instead.
What?
And always, it was the sights of his gun she felt caressing her face.
Would he kill her? Was this the reason why he watched, waited, why he kept the sights of his gun trained upon her?
“Cassandra, my dear, you stare into the evening sky as though awaiting a lover.”
She jerked to the side, her eyes widening as Dane Vanderale, the hybrid Breed offspring of the one they called the First Leo, leaned his back against the adobe wall of the balcony, lifted a slim cigar to his lips, then lit it lazily, his gaze trained on her face, assessing, always curious.
For the barest second, the light from the match shadowed the hard, savage contours of his expression and caused the emerald green of his gaze to flare with pinpoints of reddened light.
He was a Lion Breed among a small Pack of Wolves hiding in the New Mexico desert, and seemed just as comfortably at ease as he did in the drawing room of his parents’ estate in the sheltered jungles of the Congo.
“Dane, you sneak around far too much,” she told him as he gave a quick jerk of his wrist to extinguish the match.
“Those of us who hide in the shadows to watch those who prefer to hide as well, learn well the value of the ability to slip in and out of the light so effectively,” he told her quietly. “I do wonder though, why, my dear, do you tempt the gun sights that even I can feel caressing your very pretty head?”
He may question it, but he didn’t seem overly concerned by the thought. Actually, he seemed rather amused by it.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Are you always so amused by the idiosyncrasies of the rest of these mortals, or just me?” There wasn’t so much as a quiver in her voice, she made certain of it. She turned completely to rest her back against the railing that surrounded her balcony.
“I spread my amusement around,” he informed her. “I seem forever tempted by the actions of those of you who admit to mortality though. I really can’t seem to help it. Now, why not amuse me further and satisfy my curiosity?”
She shrugged. She liked Dane, despite his sarcasm and apparent cynicism.
“Who says I’m frightened of him?” she inquired rather than answering him. “Do I appear concerned?”
She may be many things, but at the moment, frightened wasn’t one of them.
“Ah, you await him.” Dane nodded slowly then, as though serious. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t have caught the pure mockery that almost tugged at his lips. “If this is so, then why doesn’t he come to you?”
And now he was baiting her.
“I don’t know. Nor do I care.” Frustration filled her voice now. The bastard was driving her crazy.
“Perhaps he knows he’s not good enough for you.” He stared into the darkness himself as his voice lowered, the South African accent most women found so charming making little impact on her.
“Why would he? Remember, it’s his gun sights I feel, Dane, not the stroke of his hand. He doesn’t make sense.”
She rather doubted he felt the need to touch her anyway. After all, he’d simply watched her, took pictures occasionally, yet never really attempted to harm her.
“Ah, my dear, for all their simplicity, men can be the most complicated of animals.”
“And here I thought it was us women who held that distinction,” she contradicted him easily.
“Women are the most complicated of all creatures, no matter their race or species,” he retorted. “Breed males though, and their human counterparts, are the most complicated of animals. I would never dare to call one so lovely as you an animal.”
“Even if I were a creature rather than an animal, it wouldn’t make sense to watch me as he does.”
