Page 30

Shit. “Fine.” This was fine. No big deal, right? Plus, I didn’t have time to fight with him on this. “Then get your clothes off. I should have enough here for both of us.” I turned away.

“What the fuck?” Warrick said, his voice filled with fury.

“What?” I started to turn, and he stopped me with a wide palm to the back of my neck, the other brushing my hair aside. Every muscle in me tensed as his finger traced the letters that had been carved into my skin, just below my shoulder blades over a year ago: WITCH.

“It’s still there?” he said, voice vibrating with fury.

“Yes, he made sure of it,” I said, keeping my voice as strong as I could.

Azel, that twisted fucking fallen angel, had chosen darkness over light. And my friends—mates of the knights of Hell—had almost died because of me, because I hadn’t been strong enough to fight him. It’d been my protection spell warding their compound, and it was my fault that monster got through. A shudder moved through me at the memory.

“I didn’t know,” he said, deep, gruff.

My mouth went dry. After Warrick had carried me away, he’d cleaned me up. He’d wiped the blood from the letters carved into my back. I’d told him my aunt would make sure it didn’t scar, but Azel had used salt, not only to cause pain but to make sure it scarred. Not even Else could fix that. Salt was one of the most powerful ingredients in our arsenal; it did a lot more than season food. So I’d lied to Warrick because he’d been so angry and there was no one left for him to punish. “It’s fine…I’m fine. He’s dead and gone. Never coming back.”

He snarled. “It should have been me to end him. For you, I would have torn him to pieces with my bare hands.”

My heart raced faster at his brutal declaration. “Just forget it’s there. I do.” It was a lie, of course. It was a constant reminder that I couldn’t be weak ever again. That I wouldn’t let anyone break me like that, and that I would do anything, anything, to protect the people who relied on me.

He grunted and finally released me, taking all that intense heat with him.

Chapter 8

Warrick

Rage-fire rushed through my veins. I hadn’t been able to protect her a year ago, and it ate at me. The physical evidence of the pain that twisted fallen angel had inflicted on her had me roaring inside my head. The beast in me wanted that fucker alive again so I could tear him apart until he was nothing but bloody tatters at my feet.

Maddox thrashed, drawing my attention back to him and all the sick fucking shit he was saying about my dove. I opened the door. “Out in the hall,” I said to her.

“I don’t care what he says,” she said.

“I do.” Seeing those scars brought the memories back. Her body battered and bleeding, close to death. It had sunk its claws into my head. I couldn’t listen to that fucker inside Maddox talk shit about her now, not if I wanted to maintain control.

She picked up the concoction she’d just made and strode out of the room. I followed and shut the door after us, then barked at Jagger, who was standing outside to keep everyone above ground.

My lieutenant rushed off to do as I said.

I didn’t want any of my brothers seeing her naked. She was mine and I didn’t share.

Gripping the back of my shirt, I tugged it off and tossed it aside, and the little breath Willow sucked in at the sight of my chest pleased me greatly. She tried not to look, but her pretty eyes kept darting back, watching me as I toed off my boots.

Then her gaze dropped, her small body freezing, when I tugged open the button of my jeans, and my satisfaction grew. She tried to deny what was between us, but she couldn’t hide the way she reacted to me. Fuck, her scent alone would have been enough.

Her gaze darted up, and she realized she’d been caught staring and quickly looked away. She shoved down her pants, and I ate up the sight of her, freezing in place when her delicate fingers gripped the fabric of her panties. She pushed them down her legs and kicked them off as well. Her bra joined her pile of clothes next.

A snarl tried to crawl up my throat, and I bit it back. My dove was exquisite. Her skin smooth and golden, her hips wide and round, made to take a big male like me. Her breasts were full and heavy, big enough to fill my hands, and one day, they’d feed our pups.

I watched mesmerized as she scooped up some of the potent smelling oil and began rubbing it over her skin.

Mine.

My mate.

My dove.

The beast, the animal I was, the part of me that struggled to live by the rules of man, wanted to push her to the ground, wrap my jaws around the back of her neck, hoist her ass in the air, and claim her. But I was more than that; Lucifer had made it so. He had given the hellhounds he’d created control over their animal urges and instincts, tentative as it was, which meant I knew that was wrong. That my dove wouldn’t like that. So I held myself back while she ran her oily hands all over her beautiful body.

Maybe if I slipped my hand between her thighs and played with her, readied her, she’d let me…