A tenuous hope that he would be the one man to eventually see the woman beneath the awkward nerd.
God. Could she have been more delusional?
“So I can hear more lies, Dr. Bartrev?”
His eyes darkened, as if bothered by the harsh edge of accusation in her voice.
“My name isn’t a lie,” he said. “I’m Nikolo Bartrev.”
“You’re not a professor.”
“No.” He took another step forward and Angela shivered as he dropped his pretense of a harmless professor. It wasn’t like he’d snapped his fingers and transformed into another creature. It was more a subtle hardening of his dark, beautiful features. The squaring of his broad shoulders that looked even broader beneath the cream cable sweater. And the swirl of heat that poured through the room, stroking over her in silent warning. “I’m a Sentinel.”
She tossed aside the knife. It was worse than useless considering she was more likely to poke it into herself than harm the dangerous predator that watched her with his piercing blue gaze.
And he was a predator.
She could sense it with every fiber of her being.
“I thought Sentinels were marked with tattoos?”
“Those who act as guardians are protected by wards.”
“But not you?”
“No. I’m a hunter. I need to . . . blend when necessary.”
Her jaw clenched at the painful reminder of his charade.
Bastard.
“So what makes you a Sentinel?”
He hesitated, clearly considering his words. Did the high-bloods have a code of silence? She wouldn’t doubt it. There was very little information about them in the general population.
“I’m stronger and faster than most people,” he at last admitted. “I also have heightened senses.”
“And it’s your job to track down freaks.” She deliberately used the insult.
Beneath her overriding fear she was well and truly pissed.
Who could blame her?
Her chin was bleeding from the claws used by the creepy Dylan who intended to kidnap her and force her to play the role of Dr. Frankenstein. And this man—this arrogant jackass—had treated her like she was nothing more than an expendable object.
Something to be used and tossed away.
He gave a dip of his head. “Yes.”
“And you always get your man?”
His gaze briefly lowered to the soft curve of her br**sts barely visible beneath her sweatshirt.
“Or woman.”
Her ni**les tightened in instant reaction and she swallowed a curse. The tingling, heart-stopping heat that she’d always savored when near this man was now a brutal reminder of just how humiliatingly naïve she’d been.
“No matter who you have to use?”
He shoved impatient fingers through the short strands of his hair.
“Dylan killed two Sentinels to escape Valhalla, then twelve norms to try and draw us from her true purpose,” he rasped. “She has to be stopped.”
Angela grimaced. Fourteen people murdered? Okay. Obviously the psycho killer had to be captured.
But that didn’t make it any easier to know she’d been used as bait.
“How did you know she would be coming here?”
He shrugged. “You’re the only one who has the talent to alter her appearance.”
She was shaking her head before he finished speaking.
Dammit. Why were they trying to make her believe she was a freak?
Did they think it would make her more sympathetic to their cause?
“Not. In. The. Mood.”
“Fine.” Perhaps sensing she was on the verge of a meltdown, he wisely backed off. “We need to go now.”
“We?” She made a sound of disbelief. “Are you brain-dead? I’m not going anywhere with you.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he grimly held on to his temper.
“You don’t have a choice. Dylan’s not going to stop hunting you. Not until she’s dead.” He deliberately paused. “Or you are.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“No.” He was gripping her upper arms firmly before she even realized he’d moved. Holy shit. He wasn’t lying when he said he was faster. “You won’t.”
She tilted back her head, pretending his touch wasn’t searing through her sweatshirt.
The lover of my dreams is now my enemy, she fiercely reminded herself.
“So I’m a prisoner?”
His brows drew together in a scowl. “Dammit, Angela, I’m only trying to protect you.”
“A little late for that, don’t you think?”
“Late for what?”
She forced herself to meet his ruthless gaze. “If you truly wanted to protect me you’d have told me the truth from the beginning.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Of course not,” she mocked, not bothering to try and pull from his grasp. What was the point? He was clearly ten times stronger than her. Which should have made her wonder why she was pissed instead of terrified. “I’m just the bait, right?”
He heaved a harsh sigh. “I was never going to let you be hurt.”
Was he kidding?
She shook her head in disgust. “Well you did.”
He hissed, his hands skimming down to her wrists so he could tug her arms up as his gaze inspected her slender body.
“I’ve seen the scratches on your face. Are you wounded anywhere else?”
She jerked her wrist free and, balling her hand into a fist, she slugged him in the center of his chest.
“You hurt me, you bastard,” she hissed.
He tensed at her accusation. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“No?” Ignoring all sanity, she hit him again. “Then why did you pretend to be my friend?”
His beautiful face became wary. “I needed to be close to you.”
“Bullshit. You’re some magical Sentinel, aren’t you?” she demanded. “You could have watched without me ever knowing you were around. Instead you—”
“What?”
She shuddered at the aching sense of betrayal. She was used to being teased, or more often, ignored by the opposite sex. But she’d never been so callously humiliated.
“You let me think you liked me.”
“Angela.”
“God, I’m such an idiot.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. Hitting him only hurt her hand.
“Don’t,” he commanded, studying her with a brooding intensity. “You’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met.”