Fated (The Soul Seekers #1)(67)
He pushes a hand through his hair, as his eyes—the color of aquamarines—glide down the length of me. And damn if I can’t feel their trajectory. It’s like showering in a stream of warm, molten honey—dripping from the top of my forehead all the way down to my feet. “I guess you could say that,” he says, voice low and deep. “More than most, anyway.” He waves a damp towel, tugs on the string of his apron, and I blush in reply. The sight of it reminding me of what I saw in the alleyway—watching him lean against the wall, his face so soft and dreamy I longed to touch him—kiss him—like I did in the dream.
I study him closely, seeking traces of recognition, remembrance—some small token of evidence to assure me that, as odd as it seems, that kiss in the cave was as real as it felt—but coming up empty.
“So, how long have you worked here?” I ask, returning to the topic at hand. My gaze drifting over the black V-necked T-shirt skimming the sinuous line of his body—telling myself it’s all part of my reconnaissance, my need to gather as much information as I can about him and his kin. But knowing that’s not really it. The truth is, I like looking at him, being near him.
“I guess you could say somewhere between too long and not long enough—depending on the state of my wallet.” His laugh is good-natured and easy—the kind that starts at the belly and trips all the way up. “It’s pretty much the only decent game in town.” He shrugs. “One way or another, you end up working for the Richters, and believe me, this is one of the better gigs.”
I peer at him closely, remembering what Cade said when I was here via the raven. How he referred to him by another name. “You’re not a Richter?” I ask, holding my breath in my cheeks. Despite what Paloma told me, I need to hear it from him, confirm that he doesn’t identify with their clan.
“I go by Whitefeather,” he says, gaze steady and serious. “I was raised by my mom, didn’t even know the Richters when I was a kid.”
Despite getting the answer I wanted, I frown in return. His being a Richter was a good reason to avoid him—without it, I’m out of excuses.
“Is that okay?” He dips his head toward mine, his mouth tugging at the side. “You seem a little upset by the news.”
I shake my head, break free of my reverie, and say, “No—not at all. Believe me, it’s more like a relief.” I meet his gaze, seeing the way it narrows in question. “Guess I’m not a big fan of your brother,” I add, watching as he throws his head back and laughs, the sight of that long, glorious column of neck forcing me to look away, it’s too much to take.
“If it makes you feel any better, most of the time I’d have to agree.” He returns to me, the warmth of his gaze solely responsible for the wave of comfort that flows through me.
The feeling lasting only a moment, before everything changes. His demeanor grows cautious, guarded, as he focuses on a distant point just beyond and says, “Speaking of…” He frowns, barely looking at me when he adds, “I should get back to work … see you around?”
I watch as he weaves through the crowd, only to be replaced a few seconds later by Cade.
“Hey, Santos.” His voice rises above the noise and chaos, as his eyes move over me, devouring me, but unlike his brother, his gaze leaves me cold.
“Hey, Coyote.” I smirk, seeing no use in pretending. We both know which team we play for.
He laughs in response—a real and genuine laugh I didn’t expect. “Of course I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, eyes twinkling, as though we’re just two friendly conspirators sharing a joke. “Though I have to admit, I could definitely learn to like you.”
He moves closer, too close for my comfort. But as much as I’d like to take one giant step back, I force myself to stay put. He will not intimidate me, no matter how hard he tries.
“You may not believe this, but I’m really glad to see you. You’re exactly what we need to shake things up around here.”
I quirk a brow, taking in smooth, poreless skin—a flash of white teeth—having no idea where he’s going with this.
“This is a great town, don’t get me wrong, and Leandro, my dad, is pretty much responsible for everything in it—you do know we run this town, right? My dad’s the mayor. My uncle’s the police chief, my cousin’s the judge…”
I roll my eyes, wanting him to know I’m not the least bit impressed by the Richters’ long list of bogus accomplishments.
“Anyway.” He dismisses my reaction with a wave of his hand. “As much as I love it here, lately things were starting to get a bit stale. I mean, you’re a world traveler…” He pauses, waiting for me to confirm that I have indeed seen a lot of the world, and when I don’t, he goes on to say, “All that globe-trotting and location hopping—with that kind of experience, your views are probably much broader than most. Something that, I’m sorry to say, my family places little value on. They’ve grown comfortable, complacent, and for a while there, I was feeling so stifled I threatened to leave. I wanted to expand my horizons, see more of the world. You probably don’t know this since you’re new here, but people don’t often leave Enchantment, and when they do … it rarely ends well.”
I narrow my gaze, knowing that was a reference to my dad but also sensing something far more sinister behind the words.