Drake shot a quick glance at Violet. A mistake. He sensed it at once and too late at the same time. The blow slammed into his face, a second one in his abdomen, sending him stumbling back several steps. Pain lanced through him. Not the pleasing kind.
Ox was on him instantly.
Another fist. “Not so quick now, are you, Fury?”
Bloody hell. Drake dodged it, barely. A second grazed his jaw. A third he blocked, but the impact made him curse. Drake steadied himself, jaw clenched, tasting blood. He blocked out the bellows from the crowd, the pain, everything except the man before him.
The man flashed his teeth. “Feeling it yet?”
Drake spit blood. “Barely a tickle.”
Damn it.
He’d lost track of how long it had been since someone had gotten the upper hand on him, when he had last lost a fight. He refused to lose this one. Not with Violet here.
As if sensing his inner resolution, Ox taunted, “You’re going to embarrass yourself in front of your bird, Fury.”
It was the wrong goad. “Not on your life, you arse.”
Ox laughed, and this time, when the beefy man struck, Drake stepped into the blow, deflecting the strike with a sharp twist of his forearm and driving his elbow into Ox’s ribs in the same motion. The man grunted. Drake didn’t give him room to recover. “I’ve indulged you long enough,” he growled, driving his fist up, fast and merciless, a brutal uppercut that knocked the man out cold.
Drake stepped back, dragging a deep breath of air into his lungs, and looked down at the man crumpled at his feet. His knuckles throbbed with a dull, satisfying ache. Ox wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.
He turned to glance at Violet, who stared at him with wide eyes.
The memory of their “punishment” in the courtyard flashed in his mind.
Drake couldn’t say what caused the sudden urge to completely conquer to surge within him. Perhaps the way her lips parted. Perhaps the way she did not look away. Yet it was there, primal and inarguable. Deep and fierce, gathering strength with every breath he took.
His brothers would claim post-match madness. The thunder of blood still roaring through his veins. But Drake knew better. This rush had a different shape, a different pull, and every inch of that hunger pointed straight at her.
The crowd’s craze dulled, leaving only the sharp, clear line of her in his sight.
She bit down on her lip.
It was such a small thing. An unconscious thing, but...
Well, Christ.
He could no more stop his feet from moving than he could stop his heart from beating. Drake allowed pure instinct to guide him, closing the distance between them in a few purposeful strides. Her brow pinched slightly, chin lifting to keep his gaze, curiosity and confusion lighting inside them. She barely managed a gasp before he cupped the back of her neck and crushed her against him, his mouth claiming hers with the raw, consuming force.
She tasted exactly as he remembered.
Hellfire.
Holy water.
And everything in between.
Chapter Ten
Violet tasted blood.The faint trace of iron brushed her tongue as the man possessed her mouth, startling and strangely... not terrible. Fresh, metallic, alive. A dark promise. Persephone tasted a single seed and never escaped it.
God save her if this was hers.
Having not been able to tear her eyes off the man, she now concluded that Drake Fury kissed like he fought. With unflinching focus, devouring intensity, and brutal dominance. She felt the sheer force of him everywhere. His fingers clamped at the nape of her neck, while his other hand pressed into her lower back, locking her against him. His tongue retreated only long enough for his teeth to graze her lower lip—light, wicked, unbearably teasing—before he plunged back inside, the deep stroke sending shivers all the way to her toes. Just like the man he knocked out, he rendered her blazing senseless!
But could she pull away?
