going to do that, you already would have,â he replied with a light shrug that said he didnât care either way.
She strove for a smart, pithy reply but came up with nothing. He was right. Why hadnât she gone to the police? Despite the return of her purse, he had broken into her apartment. He was stalking her. Threatening her. Turning her insides into knots.
As if he could hear her internal dialogue, he answered smoothly, âYou havenât gone to the cops because, deep down, you know Iâm right. Your feel it in your blood. That wasnât a dog in the alley. It was Lenny.â
She shook her head vehemently and held up both hands as if she could block his words. âThatâs ridiculous.â
Gideon studied her for a long moment, his eyes searching, probing. âYou still think heâs alive,â he concluded, shaking his head.
Since he claimed the dog he killed was Lennyâan absolute impossibilityâyes.
âHave you heard from him?â Gideon pressed, his look knowing. âHas he come to class?â
âI havenât seen him,â she admitted, âbut that doesnât mean anything. Kids skip class all the time. It doesnât mean Lenny is dead or aââ She looked over her shoulder, fearful someone might overhear, but the stampede of students had dissipated to a lone boy, scuffing his sneakers on the pavement as he walked past, oblivious to them. Just the same, she whispered angrily, âWerewolves do not exist.â
His green eyes glittered at her with unwavering resolve. âLycans,â he corrected.
âWhatever,â she spat back, perspiration trickling down her spine and dampening the small of her back.
âThe longer you fight me, the less time we have to find the lycan that infected Lenny. If we donâtââ
âYouâll kill me, right?â Arching one brow in challenge, she held her breath, hoping he wouldnât agree, that he was just crazy and not truly dangerous.
At his curt nod, her breath expelled from her body in a whoosh. Nothing ambiguous about that. âThatâs not going to happen,â she vowed, her voice barely audible but no less determined. She didnât care that he made her blood race. She wasnât about to let him kill her.
He studied her, his green eyes shrewd, searching beyond her face into her very soul. As if seeing something there, he shook his head regretfully. âThe lycanâs already gotten to you. Itâs inside you. Maybe itâs already too late.â
âBecause I wonât agree to you killing me?â She pressed a hand to her chest, her voice tight. âThatâs basic self-preservation.â
He smiled, a hint of remorse in the curve of his well-shaped lips. âThis isnât you.â
âHow do you know?â she countered hotly, even more angered because he happened to be right. She was different. Inside and out. âYou donât know me.â She waved a hand in front of her, encompassing herself with the gesture. âMaybe Iâm like this all the time.â
âAre you?â he asked in an even, steady voice no less demanding for its mildness.
She lifted her arms wide at her sides. Instead of answering him directly, she exclaimed, âYouâre threatening to kill me. That might give a woman a bit of an attitude.â
The wild urge to strike him overwhelmed her, but that would only confirm his accusations, so she restrained herself and added, âA lot of people would react aggressively.â
âNot you. You should have run for help by now. Thatâs what good girls do when they wake up and find a strange man in their apartment.â He stepped closer and the scent of him filled her nostrilsâfresh cut wood, soap, and male musk. âYouâre different,â he declared, âchanged.â
Claire found herself struggling to make sense of his words, but the increased pounding of her