Dark Beauty (The Deadly Beauties Live On 1)

I’ve been a leader for a while. And I’m loyal without hesitance. Now you answer a question. It’ll level the playing field.”

Shrugging, I take another sip before handing her the bottle. “Fine. Ask. Maybe I’ll answer.”

“Where’s your father?”

What the fucking hell? “We’re not discussing my past,” I tell her coldly.

“Why not? You had no problems asking about mine. And you expected answers. Now I’m asking about yours.”

Taking in a breath, I jerk the bottle back from her before she even takes a sip.

“I don’t know him. Don’t want to know him. Don’t care if he’s alive or dead. Satisfied? Now it’s my turn. Why do you have slave bands on your wrists? They weren’t there when you were younger.”

She pulls off the leather cuffs that keep the markings hidden, and I glance down at the tribal looking patterns that wrap around her wrists.

“They didn’t show up until I became immortal. I don’t know why. Apparently they were enchanted marks. Your turn,” she says, quickly averting her eyes from her wrists. “Why didn’t your mother give you her last name?”

Christ. Why is she so hell bent on asking me such personal questions?

“I need a hell of a lot more to drink to divulge that sort of information. Pick another question.”

She grins while reclining back, and she tilts the bottle to her lips. I stare like a fool starving for a taste until she pulls it back.

“Fine. Who did you make this charm for?”

She holds up the necklace as though I don’t know what she’s talking about.

“I’m not sure how these questions relate to getting to know me, nor do they help make me want to let you risk your life.”

She leans up on her side. “They don’t convince you to let me be a grown-ass woman, but I’m trying to understand how you tick. Maybe then I can figure out what you need to hear.”

“My past doesn’t reflect my opinions today. You need to update your questionnaire if you want to find out how I tick.”

She just stares expectantly, and I groan while rubbing a hand over my face. “Her name was Elaine. She was my best friend when we were younger. We grew up together, I thought we’d be more, and she chose someone else. End of story.”

She runs her fingers over the metal, and she smiles down at it. “You’re obviously the protective type. It’s admirable, but you’re crippling me. I can do this, Gage. I’m not weak.”

Letting my eyes run the length of her body, I remind myself that she’s off-limits. Then I remind myself again when my body doesn’t seem to take the damn hint.

“I’m sure you’re not, but you’re not cautious. You’re reckless. You rush in without concern for your own life. If you won’t keep yourself safe, then someone has to do it for you. I happen to enjoy my life, despite the mountain of bullshit that comes with the years I’ve lived. I have this thing inside me that is called self-preservation. It’s a quality you lack.”

She rolls her eyes as though I’ve said something ridiculous. “Gotta die some time. Dreading death doesn’t do anything but make the end scary. I’m not reckless. I just know I can’t always play it safe when people’s lives are at stake.”

“You’re not convincing me to do anything besides shove you in a bubble,” I mumble around the lip of the bottle.

“Why?” she asks earnestly.

I look over at her with confusion. “Why what?”

“Why do you care? You barely know me.”

That’s a damn good question that I’m not sure I can answer. “I’ve seen enough people die. I don’t feel like watching more death.”

She looks a little disappointed by the answer I just pulled out of my ass.

“She wasn’t the love of your life, you know,” she says randomly, but it’s not a question.

“You can’t already be drunk. We’ve just gotten started.”