That was when I felt it—Abel’s scent moving closer. Strong. Overwhelming. Pulling at me whether I wanted it to or not.
I turned back, and there he was…
walking straight toward me, his eyes locked on mine and never shifting away.
When he reached me, he stopped. I had expected a casual “We meet again, how are you?” or some polite greeting, but instead he said, “We should speak alone.” The sharpness in his voice made it clear he was angry.
“This way,” he instructed, and I followed him. We reached a door, he opened it, and I stepped inside. Immediately, he entered as well, closing the door behind him. Then he demanded, “Who is he?”
I turned to him, knowing he meant Desmond. “He’s a friend,” I replied evenly, but I could see from the look in his eyes that he didn’t like it one bit.
I knew
