Page 73 of Hallowed Bones

“What?”

Lyall’s fingers pinch my nape when I try to move away from him again. With his hold, he pulls me closer to him until my breasts are shoved against the expanse of muscle that I can feel beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Damn him.

“Women have the ability to give life,” Lyall explains. “They’re naturally closer to the Gods because of that. Covens revolve around female witches. They are the heart of a coven’s power and strength. They hold important roles, and a coven without a priestess is cursed to die slow, painful deaths as their numbers dwindle and their bloodlines weaken.”

My brow puckers. “But you don’t have…” I stop at his expression. Lyall’s glowing golden gaze is centered on me, and the sympathy has been replaced with a sharp note of pain. Lines digging into the corners of his lips and eyes. The muscles of his features are tight and tense.

“There hasn’t been a female witch born in the Salem coven for over three hundred years.” He speaks the words like a confession of guilt. “Our last priestess died during the Salem witch trials, and in punishment, our bloodlines haven’t produced a single female witch … until you.”

I swallow around a suddenly dry throat. “What…” The words evaporate, struggling to not just enter my mind but leave my lips. It takes several more attempts before I manage to squeeze out a question, and the whole while, Lyall’s gaze remains locked on mine as he waits, patient. “What does that mean for me?”

“Like I said before,” he whispers, the heat of his breath brushing like fire over the skin of my lips as he leans impossibly closer. The light of the sun dies around us as I find myself stretching up to meet him. “That makes you either a threat or—”

I don’t let him finish. I can’t. The desire blossoming inside of my belly won’t let me. It takes over, forcing the muscles of my legs to contract and stretch as I go onto my toes and press my mouth into his.

For a moment, there’s no response. I’ve fucked this up. I was wrong. Tears burn in the backs of my eyes. I should’ve known better. He said I was a potential threat. Whatever obsession they have with me can’t erase that fact. My shoulders droop, and I move to lean back, an excuse ready on my tongue.

It dies a quick death as Lyall’s arm bands around my waist and drags me nearly off my feet entirely. His mouth opens over mine. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet.

It’s all-consuming.

He tastes like the sea salt of the air and tart raspberry. The kiss itself is all teeth and sin. The hand against my cheek tucks under my chin, forcing my head up and back as my jaw opens further to accommodate his invading tongue.

I’m holding on to him, clutching at his shoulders as if the world is tilting, flipping upside down and he’s the only thing with enough gravity to keep me stable. I fist his shirt, every unspoken fear between us threatening to ignite and turn me to ash.

The wind howls around us. The waves of the water grow louder as the kiss extends. All I know is him. All I see, taste, hear, smell, and feel is him. His mouth drags heat into mine. His grip, like crushing iron, keeps me caged against him.

Desperately in need of air, I bite at his lower lip, sinking my teeth into the delicate flesh enough to force a gasp from him. He releases me almost as quickly as he’d taken me. A groan echoes from his chest, low and guttural as his hands ease their hold. Lyall’s forehead presses into mine as our breaths mingle between.

“Fuck … Haven.” He sounds as frantic as I feel. Desperate. Hungry. The Big Bad Wolf is here to eat me. I shiver in his arms, the heat of his body no defense against the emotional mass swirling in my chest.

“Redemption,” I say after I’ve caught my breath once more. A threat or redemption. That’s what he told me I could be. That’s what I want to be. Redemption.

Lyall’s own breathing is ragged, and he doesn’t respond for several long seconds. To my surprise, he lifts his head and presses a chaste kiss to my forehead first.

“Decisions need to be made, Rabbit,” he whispers, bending his head. My eyelids flutter shut as he presses another kiss to one and then the other. “But all the answers you seek can be found if you just accept this, us—if you agree to stay.”

“D-do I have a choice?” That’s the true question. If I don’t want to go insane, can I live a life away from them? From the coven?

“Yes.” He blows out a long breath, and I open my eyes to find his shut. There’s not even an inch of space between our bodies, and I can feel the effect the kiss had on him in the rigid length bulging beneath the front of his jeans, pressing against my stomach.

Oh my god. He can’t actually be that big, can he? There’s no way. It’s not possible.

He is a wolf, I suppose silently. But surely … in human form, he’d be … well, human.

“You’ll choose right, Rabbit,” Lyall says, distracting me from my thoughts. “I know you will.” His long, dark lashes lift, and his eyes meet mine once more.

“How do you know?” I ask.

Air slips from his nostrils on a quiet snort. He takes a step back, releasing my nape and waist in the same instant. I almost collapse right where I stand—almost.

“Because I wished for you,” he confesses. “I promised the Gods that I would take care of you if you ever came, and you’re here now.” His grin is feral, and there’s a hint of his wolf glittering back out of his human gaze.

“There hasn’t been one in three hundred years…” I repeat his earlier words, confused and head muddled by his kiss. “How do you know I won’t run?”

I want to right now, but the desire to launch myself into his arms is stronger. It’s taking all my will to keep from doing just that. Then again, I imagine if I were to attack him like that now, he would go down willingly. Would he be a sweet lover? Would he lick and kiss and nibble and make me sigh? Or would he be like Reyes, a quiet, loose sort of controlling presence? As if he gives you just enough rein to go where you want, but in a moment, he can reel you back in and trap you right where he wants you.

“Maybe I have premonition powers too,” Lyall suggests, a nonanswer that’s as frustratingly vague as it is hopeful. “Or maybe…” He backs up another step and reaches into his pocket to withdraw his keys, holding them up as a suggestion. “Maybe I want to believe that you’ll choose us.”