Page 6 of Burning Embers
I don’t move or even breathe as I hold the dagger against the man’s skin, the blade applying just enough pressure to draw a tiny droplet of blood.
“I take it that somebody doesn’t like hugs,” an amused voice says, slightly raspy from being manhandled by me.
He doesn’t seem at all perturbed or even frightened by the very real threat quite literally caressing his jugular.
“Izzy!” Hale’s voice is urgent and pleading. “You’re safe, honey. That’s just Jake. He was just playing with you. You’re safe.”
The name penetrates my defenses.
Jake…
Jake. Jake. Jake.
One of Hale’s foster children.
Slowly, I lower my gaze to the boy—man—I’m straddling.
Jake weakly offers me a wave, his face flushed and his eyes comically wide.
The first thing I note is that he’s cute in the all-American, boy-next-door kind of way. Blond, tousled hair frames a face constructed out of sharp lines and dimpled cheeks. Brilliant hazel eyes stare back at me beneath that mop of amber curls, devoid of any fear or malice. They simply glimmer with amusement.
Oh…fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This isn’t the first time I…ahem…prematurely tackled someone and threatened to murder them. I doubt it’ll be the last. I have a tendency to act before I can think through the consequences.
Quickly—and with my heart somewhere in the vicinity of my throat—I scramble off my new foster brother.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I curse, forking my fingers through my tangled blonde hair, a few shades darker than Jake’s. “I’m sorry. You scared me. I didn’t… I mean… I don’t…”
“It’s okay, Izzy,” Hale says in a soft, soothing voice.
He takes a step closer to me, his hand hovering just above my shoulder. But he doesn’t touch me like he did only moments before. For some reason, that hurts more keenly than any blade could’ve.
Did I scare him?
Is he going to kick me out already?
This will be a new record for me—not even an hour and I’m already changing homes.
“Jake.” Hale’s voice takes on a scolding, reprimanding tone. He levels a penetrating glare in the other boy’s direction. “What did I say about personal space?”
Jake doesn’t move from where he’s sprawled on the ground, though I do see him roll his hazel eyes. “Respect it.”
“Yes.” Hale nods decisively before heaving out a breath and extending a hand for Jake to take. “You totally deserved that ass kicking.”
“I think I broke my bumhole,” Jake whines playfully as he allows Hale to haul him to his feet.
Now that I’m no longer…um…straddling him, I see that Jake’s nearly an entire head taller than me. His lean, muscular body is encased in blue jeans and a brown and gold football jersey. I’m honestly not surprised that he’s on the football team. It fits his golden god image. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s one of the most popular guys in school.
And…I just tackled him to the ground.
And held a knife to his throat.
Hello, social suicide.
But Jake doesn’t seem upset by what I just did. If anything, his eyes crinkle and his smile broadens when he stares at me. He sheepishly shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels.