Page 33 of Hallowed Bones

My lips part. Despite the half smile on his face, his eyes are utterly serious. All the amusement in my chest dies a swift death, and I look away from him. “Something like that.”

“Jonah’s death is a tragedy,” Cameron says. It’s a statement of fact without prevarication. “He was young. Of course you think it’s weird. He wasn’t sick, and it wasn’t an accident. He was killed.”

Killed. The word rebounds in my head, circling around and around, growing bigger and smaller and louder and louder with each passing second. Cameron’s hand brushes mine, and I nearly jump out of my seat at the contact. Swinging my gaze up to meet his, I’m startled to find him leaning closer than ever. His eyes are in front of mine. His lips close enough that I can feel the heat of his breath against my cheek.

“Bad things can happen to good people,” he tells me. “That doesn’t mean it’s anyone’s fault. People are born, and people die—that is the cycle of life. Without death, there would not be life, just as without sorrow, there cannot be happiness. Yes, Jonah’s death was strange in that it happened too soon.”

“If he was killed, though…” I struggle to find the words as his nearness overwhelms all my other senses. “Then someone is responsible.”

Cameron’s face is a mask of melancholy. His brows sink lower, and shadows cast across his features. For several long moments, he doesn’t speak. But his hand moves for mine, taking it into his. His fingers are warm against my flesh as he traces lines over my skin, turning my palm face up. His attention falls to it. One lone finger passes up the center of my hand, stroking against a crease there, the longest one.

The strangest sense of gravity pulls me closer to him. There’s something about his touch, the way it makes every single one of my senses sharpen. I can feel his presence in my bones, a silent and unknown force urging me to trust him, to rely on him, to let him protect me. I blink, the wayward thought dragging me out of my head. Protect me? No. I hardly know Cameron. I hardly know any of the Sons of Salem.

Why then … does it feel like I’m supposed to?

When Cameron looks up, I’m even closer, my body shifting instinctively while his attention was diverted. Now, I’m knee to knee with him, shoulder to shoulder. My gaze falls down the length of his face and lands on his mouth. The bottom lip is somewhat fuller than his top one. He’s neither smiling nor frowning, and yet I can’t take my eyes away.

Images of him stripping out of his shirt, of him crawling all over me—the dips and valleys of his muscles flexing as he moves lower— flood my mind. A violent surge of desire swells up inside of me so fast, I almost topple off the seat in my haste to lean closer to him. I’m afraid to close my eyes, afraid of what other images will rise to the surface if I do. But my mind won’t let me get away that easily. I can picture Cameron’s hands moving for my own clothes, lifting the hem of my shirt, fingers dancing against my belly, moving upward. The heat of his palm is electric.

He would lay me back carefully—oh so carefully. A gentleman as he divested me of my clothes. When he had me naked and under him, he’d bend his head and lave one turgid nipple with his tongue. Here, in the library, where anyone could walk by. My breath comes faster. What am I thinking? This is a bad idea.

“Haven…”

My name doesn’t sound as if it’s coming from him. It’s a whisper all around us. A call. A plea. One that I can’t deny any longer. The earlier draw I’d felt toward him completely takes me over. I lean forward, and before I realize what I’m doing, my mouth is on his.

Cameron’s lips are stiff at first, unyielding, and then, with surprising speed, he grips my hips and half lifts me onto his lap. A near-silent gasp escapes me as he takes the opportunity to wrest control from me. His mouth opens, and my insides pulse as a hard, rigid erection presses up against me.

I’m pinned in place, held against the man beneath me as his tongue reaches out, stroking along mine. Flames erupt as heat burns through my flesh and sinks into my muscles and bones as he kisses me.

It’s sudden, urgent, like he’s been holding it back and finally cracked. His lips are soft, but the kiss is firm, confident. It sends a jolt through me, electric and entirely uninvited. My fingers clutch the edge of the window seat as the world drops away for a moment.

It’s messy and aching, all teeth and tongues, and I can’t decide if this is the place I’ve been running to for so long or if I’ve found an eye in the storm. My fingers find the back of his neck, sliding into his hair, pulling him closer. I need his anchor to keep from drifting away when nothing feels steady right now. Not the floor. Not my thoughts. Not the way my heart’s hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

He exhales hard against my mouth, like he’s been holding his breath for weeks and only now remembered how to breathe. Cameron tilts his head and slides one hand from my waist, down my back, until he hooks it over one thigh and drags me farther into his embrace. I’m straddling him now and not just sitting on his lap. My groin rubs against his. My breasts—swollen and nipples aching—rub against his chest.

That one move isn’t enough for him. Cameron’s hands begin to travel everywhere—my waist, my back, the sides of my face, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me in case I vanish.

It’s not just a kiss. It’s desperation spilling out, like we waited too long and the dam finally broke.

Cameron is the first to break the spell, pulling away sometime later as I gasp for breath to fill my lungs. My chest rises and falls in rapid movements.

“I—” I start, but my voice is too soft. He helps me to climb off him, and then we’re both standing. I swallow and try again. “I didn’t—”

He stops me with a finger to my lips and a sad smile. My heart races. My lips tingle. All he says is, “I know…”

CHAPTER 13EZRA

He is a monster. Too powerful. No male witch should wield the kind of strength that he possesses. It’s unnatural. Dangerous. He may be chosen as the next generation’s leader, but if I cannot break him to the will of the coven … my son may destroy what little remains.

—EXCERPT FROM THE PRIVATE JOURNAL OF KANE BISHOP

The air inside the coven lair feels colder than it should.

The stone walls of the underground chamber seep with centuries-old secrets, lit only by flickering torches and the occasional arc of bluish power that hums through the air like a living thing. Magic leaves a scent behind—something between ozone and old fire. It’s both soothingly familiar and disgustingly decayed on my tongue.

My footsteps echo as I descend the last step and onto the worn stone floor. Reyes is already present, leaning on one of the pillars that surround the primary room, with his arms crossed and eyes watching. Lyall is sprawled out on another set of stone steps leading into an adjoining room, golden eyes on me. Cameron is the only one not looking at me.

This place used to hold so many more witches. Dozens. Now it’s just us. And her.