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The cool night air wrapped around us immediately, feeling refreshing after the heat and noise of the bar. Gravel crunched under our feet as we crossed the lot, his hand still firm around mine, guiding me past parked trucks and the low hum of distant voices. We’d made it about halfway to his truck when he stopped so abruptly I nearly walked straight into his back.
It was like he’d hit an invisible wall.
His shoulders tensed, a full-body shudder rolling through him before he dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck.”
CHAPTER 30
STERLING
One second, I had Sienna’s hand locked in mine, and I was steering her toward my truck, every thought in my head narrowed to a single, pounding demand: get her home, strip her bare, and sink so deep inside her tight cunt that nothing else existed. I was picturing her legs wrapped around me, her nails tearing into my back…and my name ripping from her throat while I fucked her senseless, over and over, until she was shaking and soaked and dripping with me.
The next second, my body was revolting.
The air had shifted, and there it was, metallic and wrong, coating my tongue the instant I inhaled. A pulse slammed into me, brutal and blinding, like a hammer blow straight to the brain stem.
Every muscle in my body locked at once, a violent shudder ripping through me as my vision tunneled to red edges, every heartbeat a roar for blood, for broken bones, for the wet snap of a neck under my hands. My muscles locked, ready to lunge and tear apart anything that moved, and there was an ache in my chest to crush, to rip, to paint the fucking parking lot with destruction. An animalistic snarl crawled up my throat, the kind that promised graves.
“Fuck!”
“Sterling?”
My name on her lips sent some clarity slamming back into me.
I blinked and realized I was still clutching her hand. Her gorgeous green eyes were searching my face, confused and concerned, but besides her pupils being blown wide, I didn’t notice anything different about her.
She didn’t seem to be spiraling at all.
Sometimes that happened. For most people, the surge of gas hit like a vague unease, an antsy pressure in the chest, a sense that something was off without knowing why. They shook it off with another drink or a laugh or a shrug.
For people like me, like Ryder, like Jett, like my mother, like all the other would-be psychopaths out there…it was different. For us, it was a flame under the skin. A live wire threaded through muscle and bone.
Violence didn’t feel hypothetical. It felt necessary. I could feel it crawling along my nerves, begging for release, for blood, for control.
I dragged my free hand down my face, my teeth grinding as I forced myself to take a few deep breaths.
I needed to get her home and locked inside her room. Once she was safe, I could figure this out. I’d handcuff myself, lock myself in my room…sit in the dark and let the bloodlust burn itself out without hurting her.
My chest heaved as I forced my body back under control, locking the madness deep in my chest the way I’d learned to when the surge crested too fast. I’d obviously known a cycle was coming. I’d just underestimated how quickly it would hit—and how hard it would slam into me.
One step at a time. Truck. Road. House.
I could do this.
“Let’s go,” I growled, practically dragging her the rest of the way to the truck. I kept my breaths shallow and clipped, breathing short pulls of air through my nose, careful not to give it enough oxygen to explode into something worse. I could feel it burning there, furious that it was being contained.
She stumbled once trying to keep up, and guilt punched through me.
I’d make it up to her.
I didn’t know how, I only knew that I would. Once this passed and I had myself back under control.
“Are you okay?” she asked as I threw open the truck and urged her into the cab.
“Yep,” I said, not trusting myself to buckle her seat belt for her like I usually did before I slammed the door shut.
As I rounded the front of the truck, I yanked my phone from my pocket and fired off a text to Ryder and Jett without slowing.
Me: Pulse hit.
