“Think about it,” he rushed out, striding for the door.
Running Roman was doing it again before she could get her rejection past her lips. “Roman!” she called, standing as he pulled open the door and let the frigid air in.
“The fridge is stocked. Eat. Odine says you need to eat.”
“So do you! Where are you going?”
Roman gripped the handle to the door, but turned just enough to tell her, “I’m going to Winter’s Edge. Just…think about it. Promise me.” There was a desperation in his eyes she didn’t understand, and when she was quiet too long, he said it again, louder. “Mila, promise me.”
His eyes were so gold it almost hurt to look at them, and his face looked fearsome, as if he were right on the verge of a Change.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I promise.”
The door clicked closed, and Roman was gone. Mila padded to the window to watch him stride for the dark trail in the woods that would lead him the back way to Winter’s Edge.
The sickness was back. It nearly doubled her over, but it made no sense. Since he was getting farther away from her, she should be feeling better, not worse.
Or perhaps Odine wasn’t the only one in this town with magic. Roman saw ghosts and understood darkness in a way she couldn’t comprehend. He’d just offered her the world, and she’d never once questioned whether he could really make it happen.
Do you trust me?
She shouldn’t, but with all of her heart, she did. Roman was different now. He wasn’t the boy who had kept her at a distance. He wasn’t the irresponsible jokester she’d thought him to be.
Risking his own survival, Roman Striker had just offered the protection of his body as her ticket to freedom.
Chapter Seven
Roman finished the last bite of the fourth grilled cheese he’d made in the kitchen of Winter’s Edge. Thankfully they were close enough to the Grand Opening that food was stocked. And booze. He took another long swig of his beer to wash down the rest of the sandwich and narrowed his eyes at the freezer door at the back of the kitchen. It was one of those massive, silver ones.
Once upon a time, Gentry had locked him and Mila in there. Seven Minutes in Heaven, and he’d waisted every damn second of it trying to escape. God, his childhood self was a pecker.
Mila had told him she’d hidden pictures in there. Was that why she’d chosen the freezer? Because of those seven minutes of Roman being a typical idiot? Maybe she remembered it differently. He hoped she did. He should’ve made out with her then just to see if she liked him as much as he’d liked her, but he’d been busy trying to distract himself with pretty humans at the time to keep from ruining sweet Mila.
Humans. A couple wild nights with a junior varsity cheerleader at the local high school was what had gotten him kicked out of the pack. Asher had been banging a human at the time, too. It was the big secret shame, and now Roman wanted to laugh at Asshole Dad because he’d been shagging Odine, who was not only a mother-frickin’ black witch, but was definitely human. “Should’ve kicked yourself out of your own damn pack,” Roman muttered, making his way to the freezer.
Furthermore, coming back to Rangeley had been one bullshit experience after another. His brothers went to brawling with him whenever they had a spare moment, the Bone-Rippers were a literal pain in his ass, Winter’s Edge had taken a ridiculous amount of work to bring back to its former glory, Dad had apparently been freaking murdered, a black witch had stolen some of Roman’s soul juice, and now Mila was going to reject his one and only offer to be anyone’s alpha. He’d seen it in her eyes. She was going to push him away, or run away, or maybe both. Maybe he was the stayer now, and she was the runner.
This town blew a bag of donkey dicks.
Everything had been so heavy lately. Not enough laughing, not enough smiling. It made him feel like he had man-PMS, which he was pretty sure was a thing. He’d researched it last week when Blaire went on her period. He’d been afraid her moodiness was catching. Yep, her hormones could fuck with him. The internet would never lie.
Roman flipped on the stereo system on his way to the freezer, and the Thong Song blared at full volume through the kitchen and bar. Ha. Perfect.
The freezer was big, and two of the walls were lined with shelves of boxes. It was all hamburger patties, cheese sticks, mushrooms, and pickles ready for the fryer. Giant boxes of frozen crinkle-cut french fries took up almost an entire wall. Where would Mila have put a few pictures?
He trailed his fingers over the frosted cardboard as he made his way to the back. He checked every label, but it was all just food. Maybe Gentry had cleaned it out and thrown it away accidently. Or not accidentally. Gentry wasn’t a fan of Dad either apparently. Maybe he had done it on purpose.
Speaking of Dad, Noah-freaking-Striker was in here with him, staring, just like he always did. Only this time he wasn’t staring at Roman. He was looking toward the corner at an old wicker picnic basket.
“Move,” Roman muttered, waving his hand at the ghost as he walked through him. God, sometimes he imagined he smelled the old-man cologne Dad used to wear. He opened the lid to the basket and, bingo-bango, he had a winner.
On top, there was a black and white framed photo of Dad standing right in front of the Winter’s Edge sign with a big grin on his face. He’d seen this one before.
Roman still felt a little shaky from whatever Odine had done to save Blaire and Gentry, but eating had helped, and before that, making out with Mila had super-helped. He could only imagine what kind of healing powers she would’ve given him if they’d had sex. Just the thought of her naked, straddling his lap, and how fucking hard it had been not to push for more gave him yet another boner. He should start counting them for the Guinness Book of World Records. He’d had like four hundred since he’d started crushing hard on Mila again. She should dress up like Viagra for Halloween.