“Is it the blood?”
Another shake.
“Then what’s got you so scared?” I pull back and cradle her face in my hands. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks pink.
“You don’t look like you,” she whispers. “Your eyes… I’ve never seen them so wild. Not even last night in the alley.”
“Hearing a man beg for his life for hours on end does that to me—especially when it’s a man who tried to hurt you. You know what else that sound does to me?”
She shakes her head again, the poor girl, and I grab her hand and press it firmly against my stone-hard cock, my glamour fading away to reveal the true monster underneath.
The sweet little gasp she makes…
Fucking hell, I nearly come right there.
Her eyes dart from side to side, first to the shelving over my workbench, stacked high with bones of all shapes and sizes stripped clean and awaiting inspiration.
Then to the stairwell.
I dip my head close to her face—so close I can smell the apple pie she just ate. “Right about now,” I whisper, “you’re wondering if maybe Randall’s diagnosis of me was correct.”
She doesn’t answer. Just blinks up at me, her body trembling like a rabbit caught in a snare.
Part of me hates that she’s so fucking scared of me. I never wanted her to see this side of the business.
But part of me—that feral, untamed part that so often takes charge—is sobloodyturned on I can’t think straight.
“Everything inside me is telling me to run,” she finally admits, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her heart.
“Your insides give good advice. You should listen to them. Unfortunately, it won’t do you any good.”
Her eyes dart to the stairwell again, and I know she’s thinking of making a break for it. Pure survival instinct. Even her heart can’t override that.
“Think you can outrun me?” I tease, brushing my mouth along her jaw, her soft little pink earlobe. “Give it a go then, love. I’ll even give you a head start. I’m feeling rather sporting tonight.”
“But I… Drae doesn’t want me to leave the manor.”
“Best find a good place to hide, then.”
“Hide?” she squeaks, trying to take a step backward.
I follow her, crowding her against the wall, not giving her aninchof space. “If you can manage to evade me for fifteen minutes, I’ll take care of thisunbearablehard-on myself and let you go about your evening in peace. But darling?”
She swallows hard, her delicate throat bobbing, pulse flickering beneath her skin. I press a kiss to the very spot, then drag my tongue up to her mouth, nipping her bottom lip.
Her breath hitches, her eyes wide with that delicious instinctual fright.
“Be a clever little witch,” I warn, a dark whisper that stirs the fine hairs escaping her bun. “Because if I find you before the time is up, I’m going to drag you out of your hidey-hole, throw you against the nearest wall, andfuckyou until my cum is dripping down your thighs and you no longer have the strength to stand up.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
DRAEGAN
The man seated on the other side of my antique mahogany desk is young—mid-thirties, perhaps—which means he was very likely raised under the modern parental dogma that leaves children believing they trulycanachieve anything they set their minds to and that unfettered ambition is an admirable quality.
If Jude were here, I’d probably let him break my no-decapitating rule just to see the man’sambitioussmile roll across my floor.
But Jude is not here. He’s home, brutally torturing one of the mages responsible for hurting Westlyn last night.
