Page 76 of Mortis

And I’d seen the local news stories. The confusion over why the disappearances had suddenly stopped.

Yeah. That was because of me. Because I’d decided to give a monster a second chance at life.

But this . . . Whatever the symbol meant, it was obvious it wasn’t anything good. And that made my blood run cold.

A quiet whimper reached my ears.

My head snapped up. Kael stood frozen on the opposite side of the table. His hands gripped the stainless steel hard enough for his knuckles to bleach white. The metal had begun to buckle beneath his fingers. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths. His human eyes remained fixed on the crudely carved symbol, crimson bleeding into his irises as though the Beast couldn’t decide whether to seize control.

“Kael.”

Nothing.

After weeks of seeing his face light up every time I spoke his name, this lack of response felt profoundly wrong.

“Kael,” I repeated, louder.

Still nothing.

I leaned across the table, over Mr Simpson’s body, and rested my hand on his.

Turns out that was a terrible idea.

The movement happened so quickly my eyes barely followed it. Kael vaulted over the table with a guttural growl. Shadows swallowed his human form as it melted away, and for a heartbeat all I could see were glowing crimson eyes suspended in darkness.

Enormous fingers closed around my throat. We hit the floor hard, and pain exploded through the back of my skull when my head struck the tiles. My glasses flew off my face, landing somewhere nearby. The world blurred, and Kael loomed above me, broad shoulders blotting out the overhead lights. His furred legs trapped my hips against the floor as he leaned closer, lips peeled back in a savage snarl that revealed every razor-sharp tooth.

His red-and-black eyes bored into mine. But they weren’t seeing me. They were seeing whoever had terrified him so badly that the sight of a single symbol had reduced him to this.

I grabbed at the wrist pinning me to the floor. Kael growled, and his fingers tightened. Air stopped reaching my lungs. Another few seconds and I’d be sporting bruises in the exact shape of his hand.

Under different circumstances—similar positions, but without the whole life-threatening part—I might’ve found this embarrassingly attractive.

My heart hammered against my ribs, and the edges of my vision began to darken. I darted a glance towards the embalming room door before looking back up at Kael’s bleary face.

Please don’t let Arlo or Grandad walk in.

I wasn’t sure how I’d explain this one.

Extreme cosplay turns into kinky afternoon delight beside a corpse?

Nope, that definitely wouldn’t work.

I’d never bunk off work for sex in the middle of the day.

My vision narrowed further. If Kael didn’t let go soon, I’d be joining Mr Simpson on the embalming table.

And when the red haze retreated . . . when Kael finally came back to himself . . . he’d have to live with killing me.

My demon didn’t deserve another death on his conscience.

I released his wrist and slowly lifted my hand to his face. My palm settled against his cheek. He flinched, but he didn’t pull away. Some instinct buried deep inside him recognised my touch. Recognised me. The scent that he could never seem to get enough of.

“The sweetest kind of honey,” he’d murmured one night, his face buried against my neck as his fangs brushed my skin.

“Ka . . . el,” I choked out.

My thumb stroked across his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch and his grip loosened. Only slightly, but enough for me to drag a desperate, tiny breath into my lungs.