Tessa smiles at him, but it’s tentative.She’s not sure how to react to him.Her expression shifts, and she frowns.“Yes.”
Rooster tosses Prophet a set of keys from the pocket of his jacket, and Prophet catches them easily in one hand without breaking his stride.“Come on, then.”He nods toward an old truck parked nearby.
Tessa hesitates for a moment, but Prophet doesn’t give her the chance to overthink it.
“Do you like country music?”he asks, his voice casual, almost conversational.He doesn’t wait for her to answer, already deep in his own rhythm.“I do,” he continues, a little chuckle escaping him.“It’s honest.”
I watch them for a moment, the scene unfolding like a slow dance.Prophet doesn’t push, doesn’t rush.He’s got this way of making people feel they’ve got all the time in the world.And maybe that’s exactly what Tessa needs right now.It also helps that he can project trust, and the humans will always follow him.
When the truck pulls away, Blade comes out of the clubhouse.
“Will she keep our secret?”
“Too early to tell,” I answer.
“Go to her home.Keep out of sight.Watch and listen.If she talks to anyone about us, we’ll have to move on.”
“How long for?”I ask.
Blade gives me a sort of smile.“If Tessa is going to tell our secret, she’ll do it almost immediately.”He huffs.“Maybe we stayed here too long.”
Chapter Thirteen
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Prophet
The female is petrified.I can feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife.It’s taking all my skills to project a calm, safe environment around us, but it’s not easy.The others use me for this all the time during deals to keep the peace, but damn, it doesn’t work on the supernaturals.Some of them can sense things I can’t even begin to understand.
Glancing over at her, the pale light of the morning sun casts an orange glow across her face.Her eyes are wide, darting between the truck’s interior and me, but I don’t make any sudden moves.My hands stay on the steering wheel, steady and controlled, letting her feel the rhythm of my calm.
The soft hum of country music fills the truck, its low, familiar tones creating a blanket of warmth around us.It’s Morgan Wallen, singing “Last Night.”I reach out and turn up the volume a little, letting the music settle into the silence between us.
“You really like country music?”she asks, her voice still shaky but not as much.
“Yeah,” I reply, glancing at her with a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.“Don’t you?”
