Scarlet in the Shadows

VI. Unexpected Intrusion

Elijah's POV

The evening stretched on in strained silence. I finished my meal quickly, clearly not one for idle conversation. I stood up and started clearing the table, my movements precise and purposeful. Scarlet, meanwhile, remained on the couch, her gaze occasionally drifting to me with a mixture of curiosity and frustration.

"Is there something else you need?" I asked, my tone carrying a hint of impatience as I wiped my hands on a towel.

"Actually, yes," Scarlet said, her voice taking on a slightly defiant edge. "You've been nothing but dismissive. Is that how you treat everyone who ends up at your door?"

I paused, my eyes meeting hers with a flicker of something-amusement or annoyance, it was hard to tell. "If you've come here for a heart-to-heart, you're in the wrong place."

"Why do you keep pushing people away?" she pressed, her tone softer but no less determined. "Is it really that difficult to be decent?"

I sighed inwardly. This woman had a way of hitting right where it hurt. I didn't want to be the person to offer comfort or even a semblance of normalcy. My life had taught me the value of distance. "I don't do 'decent.' I do what's necessary. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other things to attend to."

As I moved toward the hallway, I noticed the fire in the living room flickering more intensely. Realizing the chimney might be blocked, I muttered under my breath and went to check on it. The heat from the fireplace was stifling, and I yanked off my shirt to cool off. I wasn't prepared for the way Scarlet's gaze shifted to me.

---

I caught myself staring, but I couldn't stop. The moment he yanked his shirt off, I forgot about everything else-the pain in my ankle, the exhaustion from the day.

Damn this man. I hate that he's too goddamn attractive for such a prick.

All I could focus on was him. The way the firelight highlighted every sharp muscle, every line of his body. I knew I should look away, but I didn't. I let my eyes linger, drinking in the sight of him, almost daring him to notice.

"Didn't realize you were so... fit," I said, my voice betraying the calm I tried to project. It came out softer, rougher.

His eyes flicked back to me, sharp, as though my words irritated him. "You're not here to critique my physique, are you?"

I could hear the tension in his voice, but I refused to be dismissed. "No, but I didn't expect you to be so... impressive."

He turned slightly, his gaze narrowing in irritation. "Impressive?" He repeated the word like it was an insult. "Is that how you think this works? Compliments to get what you want?"

"No," I shot back, annoyed by his quick dismissal. "I just call it like I see it. And right now, I see a man who's hiding more than he wants to admit."

That made him stop. He turned fully to face me now, and I could feel the weight of his gaze, as though he was daring me to keep pushing. "You're infuriatingly perceptive for someone who insists on invading my space."

I shifted, trying to ignore the dull ache in my ankle as I stood. "Maybe I don't give up easily," I said, moving closer, defiance flickering in my voice. "Especially when there's something worth uncovering."

For a second, I thought I might have gone too far, that he'd shut me down completely. But instead, he sighed and pulled his shirt back on, though the charged energy between us didn't fade. "You have a way of making things unnecessarily complicated," he muttered, turning away.

"That's one way to put it," I murmured, taking another careful step forward, though my ankle protested. The sharp pull of pain grounded me, but I wouldn't let it stop me. "But I'm not here to make things harder for you... unless you want me to."

His back was to me as he moved into the kitchen, but I followed, despite the pain radiating through my leg. He could retreat all he wanted, but I wasn't about to let him put up another wall between us. I was too close.

"If you're determined to stick around," he said gruffly, though the sharpness in his tone had dulled, "you can at least stay out of my way. I work better alone."

I smirked, hobbling a little closer. "Oh, so now you're giving orders?"

His shoulders tensed at that, his patience clearly wearing thin. "I'm not asking for help," he shot back, his voice clipped. "I just prefer doing things myself."

But his words rang hollow. The way he avoided my eyes, the way he distanced himself-it wasn't about solitude. It was about control. He was trying to keep me at arm's length, to shut me out, but I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

Elijah's POV

I didn't need help. I didn't need her. Yet, she kept trying, stubbornly moving through the space like she belonged here, like I'd asked for her help. I hadn't.

The tension between us wasn't something I could ignore, no matter how hard I tried. It was thick, clinging to the air, suffocating. Every time she shifted, every glance she threw my way, it pushed against my resolve to keep her at arm's length. Her persistence grated on my nerves, but worse, it stirred something deep inside me. Something I'd spent years burying.

She was determined to provoke me, to push until she uncovered whatever she thought was hiding behind my silence. I could see it in the way she moved, in the way her eyes lingered on me, searching for cracks.

And that look-when she called me impressive. It lingered like a slow burn, refusing to fade. I'd dismissed it as nothing, but deep down, it rattled me. Not because of her admiration, but because a part of me wanted to feel it. That was the problem.

I wasn't the kind of man who needed validation. I wasn't about to be softened by a few compliments or drawn into her game of peeling back my layers. She didn't get to dig her claws in, not with me. Yet, somehow, she was.

I stole a glance at her as she washes the dishes, moving despite the obvious pain in her ankle, refusing to let it stop her. Stubborn. That word echoed in my mind. She wasn't giving up, not on this, not on me. And that was the real problem.

I didn't want her to see the cracks. Didn't want her-or anyone else-to think there was anything worth saving behind the distance I kept. I had spent too long building those walls. And I'd be damned if I let her-or anyone-tear them down now.

Because caring? That was a weakness. A dangerous, foolish weakness. One I couldn't afford. Not with her. Not with anyone.