Page 56 of Up In Flames

“Touch her and I’ll kill you.”

At first, I don’t even recognize Sampson’s voice coming from behind me. There’s a timbre there I’ve never heard before, a sort of growl like a predator wolf might make. Or a bear. Or a vampire. I’ve written about that sound in my books, but I’ve never actually heard it.

All the little hairs on my body rise and begin waving wildly. My flesh pockmarks with instinctual fear. It’s an atavistic reaction, though it’s not for me. Sampson would never hurt me. I know that to my bones. But he sounds like he’s about to throw down with his giant friend, and even though the new guy is shorter by a few inches, he looks meaner. And I can already tell that he’s an asshole.

The visitor’s gaze snaps over my shoulder, and he straightens. Holding out his hands, he says, “Hey, kid. Didn’t know she was off-limits. I respect your claim.”

Claim?

“You should have marked her as your slave,” he continues.

Sampson growls again. A quick look shows his hands have become tight fists.

Oops. Gotta shut that down before my gentle giant does something he’ll regret.

I scramble to my feet. “I’m not his claim, clown car. I’m most certainly not his slave. I’m his fiancée. And you must be the infamous Xy. Big dick, little brain.”

Another growl sounds, this one from Xy’s direction, but I’m looking towards Sampson. I expect him to look all melty because I said we’re engaged. I expect him to be sporting a goofy grin, and say, “Really? It’s a yes?” before he softens like a lovesick fool, throws me up in his arms, takes me to the bedroom, and dismisses the other giant like he’s yesterday’s news.

Instead, his hands wrap around my shoulders. He pulls me behind him as he barks, “Get dressed. Now.”

I’m about to snap back when I catch sight of our visitor. There’s an assessing quality to his gaze, as if he’s weighing Sampson by my response to a direct order. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but I’m pretty sure I should shut my mouth and listen to my future husband. Because… priorities. I don’t want Sampson to go to jail for beating up some guy just for the sake of my pride.

Some… giant of a guy. Xy, I assume, though neither of them confirmed my guess. There’s a sense of age to him, an air of implacability that decides me. In old-world cultures, the woman who fails to obey her man reflects badly on the man. I don’t want to show Sampson up, even if the entire macho thing is disgusting, and he probably doesn’t care if I argue with him in front of our visitor.

Sampson’s visitor.

Fine. Turning, I race towards the bedroom, keeping my hands over my ass so the newcomer doesn’t get any kind of view. But I don’t shut the door once I enter the room. After grabbing a white sweater and jeans, I shove my body into the clothing without bothering to discard the lingerie.

I left. I did my part in listening to Sampson rather than arguing, which makes me stellar fiancée material, a fact I intend to point out to him as often as necessary. However, I want to be there to hear their discussion. It isn’t that I don’t trust Sampson to look out for himself. Of course he can. But I’m pretty sure that whatever revelations are coming are going to be bad. He’ll need me to talk him down.

Every time I’ve tried to raise the Nephilim issue during the last three weeks, Sampson has steered the conversation onto less controversial subjects. He obviously can’t bear the thought of not being fully human, though occasionally, he’ll quip about the subject. The sharp edges of those jokes let me know his potential origins bother him more than he’s sharing.

I get it. He doesn’t want to worry me with what it all might mean, though he’s the only one bothered by what he maybe is.

No, why split hairs? What he definitely is. Six fingers, six toes, and a double row of teeth, combined with his height? That’s textbook giant.

Once dressed, I fly back to the living room, only to stop short. No one is dealing death blows. There’s no blood. No gore. No dead bodies or raised blades.

Instead, the other giant is seated in one of the big chairs. Sampson is on the couch across the coffee table from him. There are two beer bottles, one in front of each of them, which at first glance is also odd, since I’ve never seen Sampson drink anything but wine.

But there’s beer in the refrigerator, kept for his MFD buddies when they come over. It would be just like him to make his guest feel welcome by choosing the same drink. He is so essentially good. Kind. Caring. Humble. It’s insane that I ever hated him.

I slide beside him on the couch, getting as close as possible without actually sitting on top of him. His arm snakes around me, but he doesn’t even glance my way. All his attention is focused on the other giant. This close, I can feel the tension in his muscles, like he’s ready to spring up if he needs to.

“Nina, this is Xyonis Tull. Xy, this is my… fiancée, Nina Adams. First thing, Xy has something he wants to say to you.” He barely stumbles over our new engagement, to which, despite both of us now having publicly acknowledged it, I haven’t officially said yes… at least, while he was awake.

But we’re agreed. We’re on the same page. It’s one of the most wonderful parts of our relationship right now, how confident I feel about our future.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Adams. Properly, I mean. And… hold on, boy, I’m getting to it… I apologize for making you uncomfortable in my presence. I won’t eye-fuck you again.” Xy raises a brow at Sampson. “Good enough, son?”

“I’m not your son,” Sampson snaps. “But if you act respectfully towards Nina, then I suppose that lame apology will do.”

“Son is a term of art. You’re not my spawn, though I admit that I had a few questions at the beginning when I saw you fighting that forest fire, especially since I have a small affinity for flames. Told you some of us who aren’t princes do. I’m one of them, so I thought it possible you might be mine. I haven’t always been careful.”

“Then what makes you think he’s not your son?” I ask.

Sampson frowns down at me before returning his gaze to Xy.