My Mate is a Greek God

8: Enemy awol

"Brenda... is it you?" I cautiously poke the small garlic once more.

No response.

"Brenda, please say something. Give me a sign so I know it's you," I plead, my head held low and hands clung together in a desperate prayer. I sink further to the floor.

Is this my fault?

Brett approaches. "What the hell are you doing?"

I won't spare him a look.

No.

It's his stupid fault that Brenda is possibly a head of garlic. It's his fault that my day has sucked. It's his fault that I almost let Wolfinia go free range. And it's his stupid fault that he had to go and steal my big, fragile heart in the process.

I turn my nose up. "Go away, Brett"

"What's your problem?"

"None of your business."

"You're my mate, cupcake. Everything is my business." He crouches behind me and rests his large hands on my shoulders."You're mine." The tips of his claws leisurely graze down my back, causing an eruption of goose bumps.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Stay cool, Lydia. Stay cool.

"You- You need to put some clothes on."

"Aw, am I distracting?" His warm breath tickles the nape of my neck, "Poor Lydia."

Be strong.

Think of anything else besides the fact that the hottest guy in the whole wide world is half naked and is a hair's length away from pressing his luscious, deliciously kissable lips against your needy, sensitive skin.

Think, Lydia, think.

Ah, what was the game that Mom used to make me play when I was little? The one to calm me down when she refused to get me a toy and I wrapped around her leg and wailed and screamed as she limped around the grocery store?

Ah, yes. I remember! Five Senses.

Number one is... touch.

I shut my orbs and hum, relaxing into my mate's sweet addicting touch, leaning my head as to allow him better access—

No— nope, you idiot. Stop this right now. Try again.

Number one is.

Sight.

I peel open my orbs.

I see garlic. I notice my puddle of barf. I observe a lot of blood. I glimpse at professor Albert's abandoned walker. I scan the miscellaneous candies scatted all over the floor.

I glare at Chad.

Wait—

no I don't.

"Hey, babe... where's Chad?"

"Chad's missing?!" Brett jumps to his feet, removing his hold on me like I'm a hot, iron skillet. "Chad, buddy, where are you?!" He darts his orbs around the room, then amplifies his voice, mimicking a megaphone with hands around his mouth.

I scoop up the garlic and return to my feet, cradling it against me like a fresh newborn baby.

Brett eerily cranes his head to my chest. The temperature drops. A shiver runs through me. He lowers his chin, his masculine brow and thick lashes concealing whatever wicked color his orbs are glowing.

Oh my god.

Is he really... admiring my cleavage at a time like this? Do I dare scold him?

He stalks towards me, unwavering, a predator and its prey.

I take a step back with each slow, unnerving step he takes. A shameless blush attacks my cheeks.

The temperature changes again, it's getting hotter and hotter. He's so close now. There's no wall to back into. My heart races. I'm frozen in place. I can't breath.

"You," Brett snatches the garlic and holds it in front of his nose. "You made Chad go missing."

I reach for the garlic, but he's quicker, towering it above his head.

"That could be Brenda! Put her down!" I jump for it— no use.

"No. I don't care if this is Brenda or if this is just an ordinary garlic, today," He begins to crush the garlic, its first layer peeling away, "it dies by my hands."

"No, wait, think about it!" I grab his arm and pull it down. "When was the last time you saw Chad?"

"When I held him tightly to my body and stroked his head as he sobbed into my chest."

"Yes, exactly," I let go of a breath that somehow I didn't realize I was holding for an uncertain amount of time. "Chad's hasn't been seen by either of us since then."

A small, weak, strained cough breaks the tension. "Chad..."

I gasp at the vegetable. "Brenda?! It really is you!"