Beast Behaving Badly Read Online Free

against the wall across from the bathroom, turned right around, and went back inside, closing and locking the door behind her.
    There was a lengthy pause from the other side and then, “You have to come out of there eventually.”
    Good God, he said that matter-of-factly! She could imagine him using the same inflection with, “You know I’ll have to cut out your liver eventually.”
    â€œNo, I don’t,” she told him through the door. “I’ve done the research. A person could survive on just water for a good sixty days. Plus I have a toilet. In theory, I have what I need.”
    â€œBlayne—”
    Blayne gasped, cutting him off. “How do you know my name? How long have you been hunting me? Well, you can take your cellar of death where you keep all the bodies of the women you’ve slaughtered over the years and go to hell. Because this target, which you probably refer to as ‘it’ in your head to keep me as merely an object, is not going down without a fight!”
    Proud of her speech, Blayne waited for Novikov to walk away. Instead she heard a brief sigh, then silence, but no footsteps. Where were the damn walking-away footsteps?
    Blayne waited a bit longer, and having absolutely no patience to speak of, slowly crept closer to the door. She was only a few inches away when the door was ripped off its hinges and placed aside by the brute who’d done it.
    Blayne squealed and stumbled back as Novikov stepped into the bathroom. Glaring down at her, he said, “Now we can talk.”
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    She was staring at him that way again. The way she’d stared at him when he first met her and when he’d looked at her through the bloody glass. Her brown eyes wide, her mouth open a little. One good growl, and he was pretty sure she’d either make a desperate run around him or go for his jugular. Of course, if she thought he had a “cellar of death” he wasn’t really surprised by the way she stared at him.
    Blayne finally did speak, though, but it wasn’t exactly what he expected to hear. “I am so not paying for that door.”
    â€œI wasn’t planning on charging you.”
    She wanted out of the bathroom. He could tell by the way her gaze kept searching for a way past him, but he made sure that he stood right in the doorway so she couldn’t get past him.
    After another minute, she screamed, “You’ll never take me alive! I’ll never let you get me to a secondary location!”
    Bo shrugged. “Okay.”
    With a horrified gasp, she stepped back. “You’re gonna kill me here?”
    Should he be entertained by this? Why was he entertained? “I actually wasn’t planning on killing you at all.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to kill me, skin me, and wear my head as a hat?”
    Yep. He was entertained. And, no. It wasn’t normal. Instead of answering her question, he asked his own. “Do you want me to?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œThen why are you asking?”
    â€œBecause according to my father, many teachers, and quite a few anger-management counselors, I seem to lack that little internal device that stops things that are best left unsaid from being said.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo what?”
    She took a step forward. “Are you or are you not a serial killer?”
    â€œNot.”
    â€œYou’ve never murdered anyone?”
    â€œOn or off the ice?” Her eyes grew wide again and he argued, “It’s a valid question.” When she continued to gawk up at him, her mouth open, he admitted that “I’ve never murdered or killed anyone, on or off the ice, male or female, shifter or full-human.” She went up on her toes, staring up at him. After a moment, she said, “Closer.” He leaned in and she gazed into his eyes. He held her stare for a full minute before she said, “You’re not