Page 21 of Bad Blood Wolf

Chapter 8

In a moment he was slamming out the door, his beer still in his hand. What the actual fuck? She sashayed in here, flirted with him, dared him to back her in this crazy stunt. They’d pulled it off—together—and now she was just taking off like he didn’t exist?

He caught up to her just as she was getting to her truck, all the tension of the night erupting in anger.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded. “We’re not ‘even.’”

She faced him, that beautiful curtain of hair swinging as she turned. “What are you talking about? I divided the money fairly, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He shook his head. “You’re a piece of work, you know that? That’s not what I’m worried about.”

She shrugged. “Then you shouldn’t be worried about anything. I got you your money back. Take it and spend it on drugs or gambling debts or whatever was so important.”

She opened the truck door, and he reached past her and slammed it shut. “Why did you do it?” he demanded. “You didn’t track me down and risk your pretty spotted fur by coming into a wolf bar you’ve never been to before, just to help me win my fucking money back. And if you did, I don’t need your pity.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine then. I was winning my money back. You were just along for the ride. What do you want me to do, fight you? Because I will, if it will make you take the money and shut up.”

He put his hands on his hips. “You’re going to fight me to make me keep the money.” This was insane.

“I’m going to fight you to make you shut up.”

“Why’d you do it?”

He held her gaze relentlessly. Her eyes were bright green, like new leaves in a forest, but opaque. If the eyes were the windows of the soul, hers had been shuttered for a long time.

For the first time, she looked uncomfortable. “You ask a lot of fucking questions. Those assholes stole your money when you were trying to help me out. I owed you, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Now I can.”

Damn it. He sent the beer bottle spinning off into the night, hearing it shatter on the ground. “You fucked up that last shot on purpose.”

He hadn’t meant to say that, but it just came out. It bugged him, like she’d challenged him, and then let him win.

Like she’d handed him the takedown. The Demon Queen always took the takedown.

She rolled her eyes again. “Give your male ego a rest, Wolf. Take your money and go home.” She took a step forward, her scent aggressive. “Or did you decide you want to fight after all? Because my jag is all riled up by that testosterone storm in there, and it wouldn’t take much to make her come out and play.”

She ran her fingers over his shirt like she’d done to Bastian, claws out. The fabric slit underneath her razor-sharp touch, but she didn’t draw blood.

He almost wished she would.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to fuck. He didn’t know what he wanted, but she was driving him crazy.

“Fine then. Let’s play,” he growled.

He dug his fingers into the silky waterfall of hair at the back of her neck and pulled her to him, his lips crashing down on hers in a wild kiss.

For a second she went totally still, and he thought—I’m fucking dead. But at least I got one more taste.

And then her lips parted under his and she pressed up against him, hot and wild. The world narrowed down to lips and tongue and teeth and hands, the two of them plastered together, kissing and biting and running their hands over each other’s bodies in frantic haste.

She felt as good as he’d dreamed. No, better—the warm tight curve of her ass fit perfectly in his hands, and her breasts pressing against his chest were an oasis of softness compared to the lithe muscles on the rest of her body. He shivered at the heat of her hands when she touched his skin through the slits in his shirt where she’d parted the fabric.

Feelings long-dormant in him came alive. His wolf howled inside him, and an aching need shuddered through him. He held her tight to him, running his fingers through her hair over and over the way he’d always wanted to, and its silky softness made him long for something he couldn’t name.

The scent of her arousal mixed with his own was so much more intoxicating than alcohol. He devoured her lips, high on the scent of her, knowing he’d lost his mind and never wanting it back.

His dick was hot and hard, straining against the seam of his jeans, and he let go of the silky strands of hair and cupped her ass again. He lifted her so that she straddled his hips, back against the side of the truck, and pressed his cock against the sweet spot between her thighs.

Want me. Want me as much as I want you.