Page 8 of Irrevocably

“Are you offering to paint it?” I say tartly, stuffing my fear way down deep inside me. “I’ll let Dad know.”

The cold glitter in his eyes intensifies and he lifts a hand so fast I’m barely aware of it happening, long fingers wrapping around my neck.

I freeze, every muscle in my body tightening, my heart slamming into my ribcage. His hand is heavy, his skin hot against mine. He’s not choking me, though. This is a threat, a show of force.

He leans in, his mouth near my ear. “Playing with me is a very bad idea, Tinkerbell. Especially when I could break that pretty neck and toss your body into the sea.”

I barely register being called Tinkerbell, because there’s intent in his voice, as sharp and clear as the blade of my knife. I wouldn’t be able to stop him if that’s what he decided to do, not when I’m no match for his height and his strength.

I should be terrified and a part of me is, but my brain is also doing weird things. It’s concentrating on the warmth of his breath on my skin, and the scent of his body so close to mine. The feel of his fingers around my throat. He smells like woodsmoke and dark forests, and rain.

My heart beats faster, loud in my ears.

“You could,” I say hoarsely, staring straight ahead at the powerful wall of his chest. “But if you know where I live, then you’ll know that my dad is the police chief and he’d throw your ass in jail so fast it would make your head spin.”

Lucien, whoever he is, pauses, as if considering this. “He’d have to find me first.”

“That’s easy,” I say, adrenaline pouring through me. “All he’d have to do is look for the creep hanging around the campus and stealing people’s phones.”

Very slowly, he lifts his head again and looks down at me, his gaze assessing. “The thought of death doesn’t bother you?”

“Sure,” I say. “But killing me won’t help you get answers about the Hellhounds.” I don’t know where I’m finding the courage to give him lip, because it’s not as if I’m not afraid. But I’ve been living with fear for a long time, so I’m used it. Also, my fear of him isn’t as great as my fear of flunking out of college.

His fingers tighten, a gentle pressure that builds, making me aware of the strength in his long, tattooed fingers. My heartbeat races, my breathing getting faster and faster. He watches me with a kind of clinical detachment, as if throttling me is an experiment he’s conducting. There’s no emotion in his eyes, no mercy. The stare of a psychopath.

His fingertips press against my windpipe, and I can’t breathe. Blackness is closing in around the edges of my vision like ink spilled in water, and I must have gone insane or something, because in this moment it’s not fear I feel, but relief. I won’t have to try anymore. I won’t have to push myself anymore. I can give up and fall into the soft darkness, and just never wake up. I mean, I wasn’t meant to be born anyway, right?

Dimly, I hear someone calling my name and the pressure around my throat abruptly releases, leaving me gasping for air. He doesn’t remove his hand, though, only the pressure, and his gaze is dispassionate as he looks down at me. “Perfect timing,” he says as I suck air into my starved lungs. “Looks like I’ll be escaping jail after all.” For a second I think he’s going to let me go, but then at the last minute, he bends again and whispers in my ear. “I’ll find you again, Astrid Starling.”

“Addie!” It’s Wolf’s voice, getting closer.

Lucien drops his hand from my throat and steps back, looking at me with that strange half-smile curving his mouth. Then he turns and melts into the darkness like a shadow.

Wolf scowls in the direction Lucien disappeared off into. “Who the fuck was that?”

My heart is still pounding and I’m breathing like I’ve just run the entire length of the country, and I should tell Wolf what that Lucien guy just did to me. But I feel strange. That weird relief still pouring through me, and all I can think about is how warm his hand felt against my throat. How I liked the heaviness of his palm and how, when he put that pressure on my windpipe, I wanted to fold into him. To surrender and sleep.

A wave of shame breaks through my relief, because seriously? I actually thought dying at the hands of a stranger would be a great escape from my life? That’s a coward’s way out, especially when there are people in this world who have way worse problems than mine.

Wolf, for example. He had a shitty childhood with an abusive father, and he’s still standing. He’s still living his life. So no, I can’t explain Lucien and his hand around my throat to him, and my strange reaction to it.

“No one,” I say. “Just a guy trying to find his way back to town.”

Wolf glances at me, his scowl turning concerned. “Hey, has something happened?”

“No,” I say, breathing deeply. “A slight coughing fit. Weren’t you going to do club business or something?”

“Yeah, it was false alarm, so we stayed.” He’s holding an unopened can of beer and hands it to me. “You look like you could do with one of these.”

“Thanks.” I take the can and pop the tab.

He’s still scowling. “You sure you’re okay?”

No. I’m not okay. A random psychopath tried to choke me and I liked it. I wanted it.

“Yes,” I say and take sip of the beer, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

Chapter Four