HALFBLOOD DANCER

9. HUNTED

I hear someone's steps approaching quickly behind me. Alarmed, I turn around in an abrupt twist, gasping. "Sandro..." I breathe out, my lungs deflating.

"You shouldn't be here at this hour, all by yourself," he scolds.

"I...umm...I was studying." I try to catch my breath. "How do you always do that? You appear out of nowhere. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" I glare at him.

"I assure you, Luna, it's not my intention to trouble you."

"Really? Because that's what it feels like."

"I can see how you would think that..." he concedes, his face clearly uncomfortable.

"This is getting old." I can't hide my annoyance. "What are you doing here, anyways?"

"Did you receive my gift this morning?" He ignores my question.

"Yes, I did. It was...umm," Oh, what's the word I want? Unsettling? Unexpected? Baffling? Bizarre? "It was nice," I tell him instead. "Thank you, but I can't accept it."

He stares at me quietly, his penetrating gaze searching for something in my eyes. And I suddenly feel exposed, as if he could see right through me. My hand flies up to play with my necklace, my gaze escaping his and instinctively running a full scan of his body.

He has substituted his usual no-nonsense and business-ready suit for a much more casual and relaxed outfit. He wears black jeans, black suede and leather drivers, and a royal blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his muscular arms.

This outfit beats the suits, giving prominence to his bad-boy allure. As a matter of fact, that's all he looks like right now, a gorgeous and naughty rock-star. There's not a single trace of the professional and intimidating Maestro left in him. I never thought that could be possible.

"I'll keep the flowers. But I'll return the book to you tomorrow in class," I tell him as I take a step back, putting more distance between us. "Goodnight, Sandro."

"I'll take you to the house." He gestures toward a sleek black Porsche SUV parked down the street behind him. I hadn't noticed the car, or the chauffeur sitting in the driver's seat.

"Oh, no. Thank you, but it's not that far. And I like to walk."

"Then I'll walk with you."

"That won't be necessary. Goodnight." I turn around and start walking.

"Yes, it will." He follows me across the street. "It's dangerous for you to be alone."

"I'll be fine," I retort, irritated. And I begin to wonder if, perhaps, people see a sign on my forehead that reads I'm weak and hopeless. I need protection, please.

"Luna, this is me...walking you home. Just accept it." The authority in his tone rubs me the wrong way, infuriating me beyond words.

"Stop following me, please," I tell him, my pace increasing along with my irritation. "I don't need you to walk with me."

"You can run if you want. I assure you, I can keep up," he says teasingly.

I turn around abruptly, jerking him to a halt, and glare at him with narrowed eyes. He holds my gaze, his eyes amused and filled with purpose.

"Try to stop me," he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his sudden boyish-like tone and posture taking me off guard.

Augh! I forget what I was going to say.

"Oh my God, you're crazy. You know that?" It's all I can come up with, unable to stop my treacherous lips from curling up.

"You have no idea," he says smiling.