Once Bitten (An Anya Maynard Novel)

Chapter Eight

Watching Connor’s expression harden, his nostrils flare with irritation, I was suddenly thrown back to my first day at the diner and to my first encounter with him…when I feared for my life.

“That was you hiding there?” He growled through his teeth.

I flinched back, all the thoughts of what he could have done to me flashing through my mind just as they had that morning. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to be there…I was just walking to work.” I stumbled through my words.

Oh god. He could have done the same thing to me that he had Nikko, could have cracked my skull just for witnessing their exchange. Or worse! If he thought I was a threat or that I might talk he could’ve done something to ensure I wouldn’t, like scare me off. No, he could have killed me. My hundred pound self didn’t stand a chance against someone who could toss around a full grown man like he was nothing. Not consciously at least. I don’t know what would have happened if I had blacked out, maybe Connor would have ended up the one smashed against the brick wall. There was no way to know and I wasn’t game for finding out how I stacked up against him either.

 Except…he didn’t touch me. Connor didn’t so much as throw a threatening word at me. He just walked right by me as if I wasn’t there…I stared at him, pulse calming, trying to figure out why. The thugs in the cities certainly weren’t apt to letting witnesses go so easily. Having been in the wrong place at the wrong time on several occasions- even when it’s the stairwell to your own apartment- I had heard the threats before.

He caught my gawking and clenched his teeth before closing his eyes. Turing away from me he took a deep breath through his nose. “No, I’m sorry,” he said a little more calmly than his previous statement, “it’s not you I’m angry with.”

Half turned from me I knew what he was trying to hide, and when he cracked his lids again I gasped. It was almost as if…as if his eyes glowed.

“How much did you-” I could see the corners of his eyes contract as if he was frowning, “never mind, I can handle it.”

“Handle what?”

He half turned to me and stopped. “Don’t worry about it. I can take care of it,” he dismissed it and held his helmet out to me, “Put this on.”

I hesitated, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“It’s the law Anya.” Now there was the Connor I knew, short and curt.

“No…I mean the motorcycle. I’m epileptic, I have to stay calm or I’ll have an episode. I don’t think I can do that if I get on there.”

“Epileptic,” he looked at me with a disbelieving look on his face, “is that what you think happens to you when you’re upset?”

I returned the expression, “So do a handful of pediatricians.” Not that that was any of his business.

He shook his head and held the helmet out again, “Don’t worry Anya I…I won’t let anything happen to you.”

It wasn’t me I was worried about.

“What about you?” I asked as I took the helmet and slid it over my head.

“I’ll be fine.”

“But it’s cold.”

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated.

As I fumbled with the chin strap he gave me a measured look, eyes no longer aglow. It seemed less like he was appreciating my outfit and more like appraising it. When it became apparent I was going to get the helmet on myself he pushed my hands out of the way with a frustrated huff, pulling on something to tighten the strap before clicking it into place. He touched my shoulder as I moved the too-big helmet around to try and find a comfortable position, pulling on my cape. Then with one sharp movement he ripped it off of me and tossed in on the ground.