Page 31 of White Noise

“You smell scared.”

My stomach tightens, but I force my expression flat. “Congratulations. You’ve successfully terrorized someone in their own home. Really impressive.”

His eyes drag over me again, slower this time, and the look on his face changes just enough to make heat crawl up my neck.

“And that isn’t the only thing I can smell.”

The meaning lands a second before the embarrassment does.

I tighten my grip on the knife and glare up at him. “You are so fucking full of yourself.”

His mouth curls at one corner.

“Am I?”

The question is quiet, almost lazy, which somehow makes it worse. He doesn’t need to spell it out because he’s already watching every reaction I’m trying to bury.

I swallow hard and lift the knife a little higher. “Whatever you think you figured out, you’re wrong.”

Silas gives me a slow once-over, openly amused now.

“That so?” His head tilts. “Or are you just to afraid to admit you can handle being scared, but you can’t stand the fact your little human body likes having me this close?”

My face burns.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

I tighten my grip on the knife, and Silas glances down at it before meeting my eyes again. A deep laugh rolls out of him, quiet but genuinely amused, like the idea of me standing here armed is the funniest thing he’s seen all night.

My jaw clenches. “You’re a smug fucking asshole, you know that?”

“Still hiding behind that pretty mouth.” His gaze travels over me with absolutely no shame about what he’s doing. “You really thought talking shit through a screen meant you could handle me once I was standing in front of you?”

“I’m handling you just fine.”

The answer comes too quickly, and I know it the second it leaves my mouth. Silas does too. His expression shifts with that infuriating satisfaction he gets whenever my body gives him something my mouth refuses to.

He closes another inch of space between us.

“No, you’re not. But you are trying very hard to convince yourself you are.”

His height is impossible to ignore this close. I have to tip my chin to look at him, my back pressed firmly against the wall while his body blocks almost everything beyond him. The knife stays between us, but it suddenly feels pathetic compared to the sheer size of him.

“I told you to back up.”

“Mm.” He tilts his head as if he’s considering the request. “You did.”

Then he reaches for me.

I jerk the knife higher, but his hand doesn’t go anywhere near it. His fingers slide into my hair instead, catching a strand near my cheek and slowly winding it around them.

The touch is so unexpectedly gentle that I freeze.

Silas watches me while he lets my hair slip between his fingers, his knuckles brushing along my cheek on the way down.

Static snaps against my skin.