Daily Prompt: Muscle

From The Grey House:

(This comes from one of my favorite scenes in the book. HAD to share lots.)

He stayed where he was, staring at her. “I was rather intrigued to learn you had a job here. My investigation of you didn’t turn that up. But at least now I know another name to look under. Tell me, does Natalie Dovenski have as interesting a past?”

Natalia slammed the door on her emotions and continued onto the deck. She strolled to the table and took her water bottle. She took a drink, screwed the top back on and took it with her to the railing. She rested her back on the banister and regarded Vincent. His face revealed less than hers did. “Natalie Dovenski doesn’t know that things like you exist.” She took another sip of water. “What do you want vampire?”

“Call me by my name. I like hearing it whispering through your lips.” Still no emotion.

A muscle twitched in her jaw as she ground her teeth. “You could have put my things back.”

“I want you to know how much I know about you.” His blue eyes were locked with her dark ones. There seemed to be some humor there. He drummed his fingers together, waiting.

Natalia ground her teeth again, then shut her eyes tight, hiding the anger that clouded them. She opened her eyes and stared at him. “And why would I care?”

“It’s a sad past, checkered with much horror. How old were you when you met your first monster?”

Her anger thickened. Was he making fun of her? “Ten.”

“What kind of monster did you meet?” He was intrigued. He knew about the werewolf she met seven years ago. He did not know about the monster she met at the age of ten.

Her head reeled as if she’d been slapped. A tear slid down her cheek as she remembered her first real monster. Her voice was a whisper. She was surprised he heard. “Human.”

Vincent was not expecting the haunted look. He had expected, wanted, her anger. Passionate anger, always easy to stoke, could be transformed into something far more pleasurable. He had come out here to play. He would have his way. But first, “He’s not the one, though, is he? Not the one who made you a Slayer.”

Her anger came back at the word. “I’m not a Slayer.”

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