Ivory White : A House of Misfits Standalone

by Cambria Hebert

  “What’s wrong with it now?”

  “There’s probably a spider on it.” Beau snickered.

  I rolled my eyes. “Why would I be frightened of a spider? What did he ever do to me?”

  “Then what’s wrong?” Neo sighed as if he were losing patience.

  “Why did no one tell me I looked this awful?” I demanded.

  All the men blinked and looked around at each other dubiously.

  “Easy.” Earth finally chimed in. “We thought you looked like this all the time.”

  My mouth fell open, and then I rushed him.

  Neo caught me around the waist, my legs still swinging over the ground I was no longer touching. “That was the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

  “Fix your face. You’re bleeding,” he deadpanned, not even worried in the least about my threats.

  All three men left the bathroom, and Neo put me on my feet. An unexpected rush of tears filled my eyes, and I fought to keep them from spilling over.

  It was a fight I did not win.

  “Shh, shh…” Neo soothed, tugging me into his arms and holding my head to his chest.

  I sniffled, wiping my tears on his shirt. “No wonder you insulted me and flirted with her,” I mumbled.

  Neo laughed, his clear glee ringing over my head as I stood there and cried miserably. He really was so rude. “I was not flirting.”

  “Whatever.”

  My hands clung to his shirt when he pulled me back, dark eyes seeking mine. I didn’t feel like looking at him, so I shut mine, denying my stare.

  Instead of arguing with me, I felt warm, wide palms cup my face. Emotion moved through me, making me feel weak and wobbly. The way he held my face so tenderly seemed to open up the floodgates of raw emotion lurking just beneath my surface, fighting hard to get out no matter how hard I tried to keep it contained.

  How could he cradle me like this? How could such a small gesture make me want to crumble?

  The center of my chest felt tight as though there were no room left inside me for even air to fill my lungs. Wet lashes clung to my cheeks as I squeezed my eyes shut, trying with all my might to keep him from getting in even further.

  “Look at me.” He beckoned. Oh, his voice was like the sweetest of apples, offering the most delicious snack.

  I let loose a sound of refusal, squeezing my eyes closed even harder.

  His low chuckle scraped across my insides like the strike of a match setting fire to my soul.

  “Okay then, just listen,” he mused. “Why would I flirt with her when you were standing just feet away? Even hidden by the clothing racks, wearing wet, dirty clothes, and with your hair all uneven.”

  “This is not helping!”

  He chuckled again, and my God, why was it my favorite sound?

  “Even then, you were achingly beautiful. A beauty I thought only existed between the pages of a storybook. Even on your worst day, Ivory White, you will always be the fairest of them all.”

  I opened my eyes and fell into his.

  Are you lying again?

  I couldn’t lie about this. His black depths vowed.

  His hands still cradled my face, and I couldn’t help but nuzzle into his palm.

  Gentle pressure was applied against the underside of my jaw, bringing my face back up as he began to lower his. My heart leaped into my throat, and every thought worrying me evaporated with anticipation.

  “Fletch is gonna eat all this if you don’t get out here!” Earth yelled.

  Neo’s forehead dropped, momentarily touching my shoulder. Disappointment curled my toes, and my teeth sank into my lower lip.

  “Bad timing,” he muttered, straightening away. The pad of his thumb brushed against my mouth, tugging the abused flesh away from my teeth. “Next time.”

  The moment shattered when he stepped back. “Clean up and dry off. I’ll save you some food.”

  It wasn’t until he was gone that I remembered to breathe.

  28

  Neo

  * * *

  I wanted to kiss her so badly I ached.

  Distractions kept interrupting, and I allowed them to stay.

  Because I knew.

  With one thousand percent accuracy.

  I couldn’t deny that the moment our lips finally connected, my life wouldn’t be my own anymore.

  It would be hers.

  29

  Ivory

  * * *

  I couldn’t relax.

  Maybe it was the loud-breathing dog anchoring my feet to the couch like an anvil. Maybe it was the death glare I got from Earth when he called for Snort to come to bed and the dog refused to leave my side. Could have been the pizza I ate for dinner. More likely, it was watching four grown men inhale said pizza.

  I mean, I’d seen more civilized feedings at the zoo.

  And look, in my defense, I had to eat the greasy carbs for dinner. It was that or pass out. I was tired of passing out. Besides, I was almost murdered twice. Hello, stress eating for one.

  All of these were valid reasons, but I didn’t think these were the explanation as to why I was lying on this lumpy couch in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Why restlessness allowed me no peace.

  At least the place smelled nice. The cheap candle I got smelled better than some of the ones I’d been gifted from major designers.

  The light but constant tapping of Beau’s fingers on his keyboard lent a nice cadence to the very dim room, but even that wasn’t enough to lull my exhausted body and mind into slumber.

  What’s a girl gotta do to get some sleep around here?

  Maybe I should have taken one of the beers Earth brought up from the bar to go with the pizza. I mean, it was gross, but it did offer poison. Maybe that would have knocked me out.

  I felt my nose scrunch up just thinking about it. I think I’d pass on that kind of sleep.

  The slightest shuffle drowned out everything else, and I struggled under the weight of the dog to turn toward the sound. The covers shifted on the mattress Neo and Fletch were sharing, and then a body sat up.

  I knew immediately it was Neo. Somehow in this short amount of time, I’d grown some sort of instinct to recognize him without any help at all.

  His upper body was bare, his skin standing out in the shadows. As he pushed a hand through his hair, his shoulders rose and fell with a single deep breath. My belly flipped a little watching his movements, and I recalled what it had been like being carried on that back.

  Leaning down, he scooped up a T-shirt and tugged it over his head, the dark material of the shirt concealing the broad shoulders I’d been captivated by. Pushing up, he grabbed a pair of jeans, and my attention sharpened.

  Why is he getting dressed in the middle of the night?

  Almost as if sensing my curiosity, he glanced behind him, staring at the space where I lay. I pretended to be asleep, of course. Couldn’t spy on him if he knew I was awake.

  Hearing the rustle of the jeans once more, I went back to observing. The little hop he did when he pulled up the jeans made me smile. Neo disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments and then returned, grabbing a jacket and spinning toward me again.

  Quickly closing my eyes, I willed my breath to be even as I felt him creep close. Snort shifted, glancing up at him, and Neo shushed him quietly.

  My heart was thundering so loud I expected him to ask me why I was faking sleep, but he said nothing. Just stood over me, staring down.

  Oddly, I didn’t feel violated or even offended. If anything, my skin grew warm and the air around me shimmered with comfort.

  I only need him closer to fall asleep.

  The thought jarred me, nearly giving away the fact that I was not actually asleep. But Neo didn’t notice because he’d moved away, and all the locks on the door started to slide free.

  Eyes flying open, I stared at the back of the sofa, listening to him unlock the door. He’s leaving? At this hour? Where is he going? Is he coming back?

  Unmista
kable panic flooded my veins, wiping out the sleepy feeling I’d only just achieved. When the door clicked shut behind him, I gasped, throwing off the blanket and rushing out into the hall.

  “Neo,” I breathlessly called, my bare feet slapping against the floor.

  He spun back, looking like a prince of the night. Black ripped jeans. Black boots splattered with paint. Black T-shirt, black hoodie with the hood resting over a black jacket with a thousand pockets covering the front.

  His night eyes seemed like wide orbs, which were illuminated with surprise as he stared from beneath a black knit cap pulled down to his eyebrows. His jaw was even shadowed with dark stubble, accentuating the strong line.

  For a moment, I forgot to breathe. I forgot to think, and all I did was feel, pummeled by a million emotions coming so hard and so fast I couldn’t even single them out.

  “Go back to sleep,” he said, his voice deep and raspy, exactly the kind of voice a prince of the night would use.

  “Why are you leaving?”

  “I have to work.”

  “I thought you went to work earlier today.”

  “I lied.”

  Then where were you? I wanted to ask but knew he wouldn’t tell.

  “Please don’t go.”

  His throat bobbed, and his eyes glanced away before coming back to rest on me. “Go back to bed.”

  “I’m scared.” It was true. I was. Everything was foreign here, and it seemed there was danger and chaos around every corner.

  But he was an anchor. An anchor that made me feel like maybe I’d be okay.

  “The others will protect you.”

  “I want you.” The second the words exited my mouth, I nearly died from how they could be construed. Folding my lips in, I forbade myself from speaking again. I hadn’t meant it that way, but it seemed if I tried to explain, I’d only make it worse.

  I felt swallowed whole by his intense stare and oddly shy under the weight of his silence. I was normally not a timid woman. I owned who and what I was. I commanded a room whenever I entered.

  But here with him, it was different.

  Oddly enough, I realized I felt more vulnerable with him right now than I had in the clutches of the huntsman.

  And that realization wrapped fear around my heart.

  It was this intense fear that allowed me to break the spell I always fell under when I stared into his gaze. I turned back to the apartment, but something warm and firm encircled my wrist.

  Instead of looking at him, I stared at where he held me, at the contrast of his warm-toned skin against my nearly paper-white.

  Still holding lightly to my arm, he moved past, stepping into the apartment and leaving me in the hall. Feet rooted to the floor, I watched him move silently around the room, then approach once more. Closing the apartment door behind him, he held out the basic pair of white sneakers he’d gotten me at the secondhand shop.

  I put them on along with a pair of his socks, which were long enough that they covered the hem of the black leggings I’d also gotten.

  Any other time, I never would have put this on, let alone considered going out in public, but here I was, silently doing both without even asking why.

  Once that was done, he handed over a black hoodie that looked a lot like the one he was wearing. I went to grab it, but he made a sound and lifted it carefully over my head, tugging it down until it fell to my thighs.

  Finally, he held out a baseball cap, one I recognized as his instantly because it was splattered with paint. Once I pulled it down over my limp and frankly tortured hair, his hand appeared palm up, silently asking for mine.

  I answered the same way he asked, by offering my hand, sliding it along his. When our fingers intertwined, my stomach felt fluttery, and a shaky breath silently rushed past my lips.

  Outside on the sidewalk, my hand was still in his, the city sleeping softly around us. He walked, and I followed, not caring at all where we were going because I was with him.

  30

  Huntsman

  * * *

  She did not heed my warning. She did not disappear.

  So I took an approach I never had before. Snatching her off the street, trying to make her understand.

  I thought she might flee. Still, she stayed.

  The proof I’d sent of her demise could only work if she was forgotten like pages ripped out of a book.

  Now there was a painting. There was hope she might still live.

  The proof I sent would begin to look feeble. The reputation I’d carefully cultivated could be shattered by one girl.

  I couldn’t allow it.

  She should have listened. She should have disappeared.

  There was only one solution to stop this from getting too far out of hand.

  Produce a body. But not just any body.

  Hers.

  31

  Neo

  * * *

  Trepidation shifted the way she walked, turning her cautious and more deliberate. Her always small but graceful steps were clumsier, and it felt like I was tugging her along instead of walking beside her.

  Timid wasn’t really a word I would use to describe Ivory. Even in her most vulnerable times, there was always a sort of arrogant confidence about her. I didn’t mean that as an insult either, though if I said those things out loud, she would take it as one. Just like before.

  Before when she got jealous.

  She didn’t actually say she was jealous, but I felt it. I saw it deep in her jewel-toned eyes and felt it in the way she clung to my back a little tighter when I carried her past the thrift shop.

  Pleasure, a warm and fuzzy feeling, curled through my middle, making my stomach feel oddly light. Her jealousy satisfied me.

  And so did the way her hand tightened around mine, her short strides quickening so her body was that much closer.

  It wasn’t that I wanted her to be afraid or wary, but I couldn’t deny the enjoyment I got from knowing it was me she reached for when she needed more than her own confidence. The instinct to protect curled through my veins, reaching for my senses, tingling the underside of my skin.

  The urge to protect wasn’t necessarily new, but this was.

  This felt new because I felt wanted. I wasn’t obligated to protect Ivory. I wasn’t asked to, and honestly, I probably didn’t need to. But she came to me anyway, keeping close, allowing me to lead…

  Trusting me.

  I wasn’t a man worthy of trust. I hadn’t been for a very long time, and I knew she would probably rescind that trust when she got to know me better. But right now? Right now her body bumped into mine because my presence reassured her, holding her hand helped her sleep, and the bandages I put on her scrapes made me feel worthwhile. Like maybe the man I’d lost so long ago wasn’t as misplaced as I believed.

  This was a dangerous game I was playing—a game I knew I would never win. It was why I tried not to kiss her. It was why I tried not to fall too deep.

  But how could a street rat like me, a guy with nothing to offer but paint-stained hands, resist when a woman like her made me feel I was actually enough.

  Don’t do this to yourself, Neo.

  “Neo?” Her voice was sort of musical as it floated to my ear, carrying over the loud noise of the subway.

  Retreating from the battle within my head, I let my gaze drift to the storybook girl.

  How I wanted to fall into that book with her. How I wanted to get lost in her pages.

  “You’ve never been on the subway before, have you?”

  The way her eyes darted toward the silver bullet screeching to a stop beside us and then back at me was all the answer I needed.

  “How could you live in New York City all your life and never once ride the subway?” I mocked.

  Her hackles rose, as I knew they would, giving back some of her usual confidence. “Why would I ride this”—she gestured—“when I have a driver?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You can’t call yourself a New Yorker until you ride the subway
,” I announced. “Let’s go.”

  Wide silver doors slid open all along the cars, and the hair around her neck blew back. Inside, the lights were harsh, and the hanging handrails swung back and forth.

  “I don’t know,” she murmured, trying to turn away. “Eek,” she squeaked when my arms circled her waist and lifted, walking into the car.

  She was lucky it was so early in the morning and not many people were squished in here with us. I wanted to laugh thinking about how she would have reacted if this had been normal hours because the car would have been jam-packed with people.

  Her feet touched the ground again as the doors slid closed. “It smells in here. And why is it so dirty? Why do people put up with this?”

  Spinning her around to face me, I merely smiled, knowing that all her complaints were because she was so stressed.

  “Hold on.” I warned, and the subway pitched forward.

  She fell of course, not ready for the jolt of movement. I caught her, tugging her closer than I needed to, my blood heating when she didn’t pull away. Instead, her cheek lay pillowed just beneath my shoulder, her hands holding on to my biceps for dear life.

  A second passed, and she pulled back, staring out the thick glass windows. “We’re going so fast!” she exclaimed.

  We shot into a tunnel, and all the lights flickered out. The unfamiliar darkness made her bury her face against my chest.

  A lump formed in my throat. I am falling. I don’t know how to stop.

  Clearing the tunnel, the lights came back on, but we stood there clinging to each other far longer than necessary. The next stop approached, and the change in speed caused us to wobble unsteadily.

  When I tipped her head back, I couldn’t see her eyes because of the hat, but her rose-red lips were on full display.

  “Are we getting off?” she asked.

  “Not yet.” My voice was raspy, but I pretended not to notice.

  As the doors opened and no new passengers got on, I led her toward the back where there was a bench seat in front of a window.