Page 70 of Hallowed Bones

This was such a bad fucking idea. I should—

The vibrations of his laughter travel from his body to mine, making me realize he’d done it on purpose and cutting my thoughts off.

I bite back the urge to lay into him—not that he gives me a chance as he lifts his thickly muscled thighs and the bike moves forward, the wheels turning beneath us over gravel even as air slides over the bare skin of my arms.

Asshole.

Still, my arms stay locked around him for the rest of the ride. My breath hitches and my heartbeat races as we take the first sharp turn. I lean with him, clumsy at first, but by the next curve, my body finds the rhythm—fluid, reactive, and molded to his. Every shift of his muscles under my palms sparks a response in me, like we’re wired together. Riding on the back of Lyall’s motorcycle feels like a rush I’m not sure I’ll ever come down from.

It should come as no surprise, but Lyall is competent on the road with a motorcycle, his grip on the handlebars easing every so often to reach back and cup the side of my thigh. I close my eyes as the heat of his palm burns through the denim of my jeans. My nipples bead against the inside of my bra. I’m not sure if it’s because of the cold air or the heat building in my own body, but I pray he can’t feel them against his back.

A ride that, in all likelihood, is little more than fifteen minutes feels like hours by the time he finally pulls up outside a small shop facing the ocean. I lift my head away from his shoulder as he cuts the engine. Getting off the bike, though, isn’t as easy as I imagined it’d be. The insides of my thighs feel tingly, as if there’s a massive beast between them, purring roughly.

A shiver steals over me. Standing under the cool fall sun is not the same as riding on the back of a speeding bike going fifty miles per hour or more down the highway. Lyall shoves the kickstand down with his foot and leaves the bike parked close to the sidewalk as he gets off.

“You okay?” he asks, removing his helmet and shaking out his flattened hair.

I blink, standing there and trying to make my legs work properly. He chuckles and drops his own helmet on one of the handlebars before helping me to remove my own.

“Rabbit?” Lyall bends close, the scent of spice and something wild invading my nose. “Speak to me, baby. Are you okay?”

“I…” I swallow around a thick throat and, in lieu of a real answer, nod.

He shrugs out of his leather jacket and drops it around my shoulders without a word. I blink, surprised, but the warmth is too nice for me to refuse the quiet offer. I shove my arms through the too-wide sleeves, settling into the jacket with a sigh of relief.

Lyall’s golden-brown eyes examine me as if he’s not quite sure if he can trust my response, but thankfully, he doesn’t pressure me for more as he sets my helmet on the other handlebar and shoves a hand through his shoulder-length locks, untangling them with his fingers before reaching for my hand. I watch him, a strange mixture of wariness and intrigue keeping my gaze pinned to his lean, muscled form.

“Don’t overthink it, Rabbit,” Lyall says, his voice quiet as he takes me in, eyeing me in that knowing way of his—as if he can see into my head. Maybe he can. I don’t know shit about witches.

I narrow my gaze on him. “Can you read my mind?” I ask, my thoughts bringing my worries to life.

His eyes flicker—literally. A faint glow, wolf-born, honey brown to sharp gold. “No,” he says. “But I don’t have to read your mind to know that you’re nervous, and you overthink things when you’re nervous.”

Something stirs under my skin, slithering through my body and reaching out for him. Is it magic? I wonder. Mine crying out for his?

“Maybe I’m just being smart,” I tell him. “I don’t know you very well. Who’s to say you didn’t bring me out here to eat me.”

Lyall grins—all teeth and sin. “Rabbit, I am more than happy to eat you. I promise, too, you’ll like it.”

Ignoring the obvious sexual undertones of his words, I tip my head back and watch him. “Some might say you’re a monster because of what you can do.”

He arches a brow and pulls me along beside him as he strides down the sidewalk toward the open shop a little ways up the road. “Everyone has a monster inside of them, Haven,” he tells me. “I’m just open and honest about mine.”

My breath catches. Is he right? If everyone has a monster … what’s mine?

“Are you the only one that can shift into a wolf?” I ask. “I’m not going to suddenly start craving fresh meat and howling at the moon at night, am I?”

Lyall nearly stumbles as we stop in the doorway to a quaint little shop with a single counter, half of which is covered by a glass window. He turns to face me, his own expression twisted up in a mask that’s both horrified and entertained.

“I do not howl at the moon,” he states.

“Do you bark?”

He glares at me.

“It’s a simple question,” I point out.

He shakes his head. “Dear Gods…” he mutters. When his gaze falls back to mine, he finally speaks directly to me again. “I’m the only one in the Salem coven with the wolf pact,” he states. “Now, come on.” He releases my hand to take me by the shoulders, directing me ahead of him to the counter where a young, slender man with a crop of curly black hair and soil-rich eyes waits, watching the two of us curiously. “I need ice cream if you’re going to spend our whole date asking me shit like that.”