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She was all too aware of the exact state of Hank’s excitement—and of the growing tremble in the hand that held the knife so close to her throat. The fires flared brighter within her soul. She bit her lip, desperate to keep them under control.
Don’t do anything foolish, Jon had warned her. “Don’t lose control” was what he’d meant.
“Why don’t we move on inside?” Hank continued. “I have a pain that needs to be eased. Maybe you can help me.”
A chill ran through her. If Hank tried to touch her, she’d surely lose control and kill not only him, but possibly the teenagers if they were inside the cabin. She was too close to it, and her flames, once unleashed, were too fierce.
He nudged her forward. The knife was a thin line of heat against her neck. If she so much as stumbled, she would die.
And despite everything, she knew that she really didn’t want to die. There was so much of life she had yet to experience.
Like love.
She clenched her fists and felt Jon’s ring bite into her palm. He’d given her something of his to hold on to, something he seemed to value more than life. Something he’d come back for. All she had to do was hang on and wait.
After all, Hank couldn’t do much to her that her husband hadn’t already done.
She edged up the steps, hissing slightly when the knife bit into her neck. Blood trickled down her throat. Hank chuckled, his breath hot and unsteady near her ear.
They reached the door. Hank kicked it open. A bell chimed harshly above them, jarring against her already taut nerves. He pushed her through, then quickly drew her back against him while he closed the door. The knife nicked into her throat again. She bit her lip and fought the sting of tears. The last thing she wanted was to give Hank the satisfaction of seeing her cry. He was probably the type who’d enjoy it—just as Brian had.
But at least Brian was dead, and no longer able to hurt her.
Shoving the thought from her mind, she squinted, hoping to see Evan and the other teenager in the fire-lit darkness.
Two long bundles of blankets lay in the far corner of the room. She hoped it was the two teens—and that they were still alive.
Hank moved the knife away from her neck, but she didn’t relax. He still held the knife close enough to use it should she move the wrong way.
“Why don’t you go sit down while I tend to the fire.” He gave her a hard shove in the direction of the sofa. “It’s gotten a might cool in here.”
She stumbled forward, then caught sight of the window near the back of the cabin. If he turned away long enough … She edged sideways.
“Don’t even think about it, sweetheart.”
She froze. Hank’s dark gaze gleamed viciously as he grabbed her arm and forced her down onto the sofa.
“You know, up until today I wasn’t entirely sure if you were involved with the shapeshifter.” He sat down beside her. “And I still don’t entirely understand why you are.”
She watched his fingers lightly tap the cushions that separated them. If that hand moved any closer to her thigh, she was running, knife or no knife. “As you said yourself, he’s a charmer.”
His smile gleamed briefly. “We both know he’s not your type, sweetheart.”
“He’s not Eleanor’s type either, but she didn’t seem to mind.”
Anger darkened his eyes, and Maddie bit her lip. She sure could pick the perfect moment to start answering back.
“No, she doesn’t,” he growled softly. He grabbed her wrist, squeezing it tight. “Well, what’s good enough for the goose is good enough for the gander.”
He yanked her toward him and she thrust her hand into his face, desperate to keep his lips from hers. Fire leaped up through her body, running heat through her veins. The sheer force of it frightened the hell out of her. Killing Hank wouldn’t be so bad, but there were the teenagers to think about. She might be able to get one out, but there was no way known she could get them both out before her fire burned the cabin to the ground.
And if he didn’t stop soon, the choice might be taken from her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Hank?”
Eleanor’s voice sliced through the room. Hank flung Maddie away and scrambled to his feet. She edged as far away from him as was practical on the sofa.
“Just having a little fun.” Though his tone was defiant, there was no escaping the hint of fear in his stance. Just as Jon had guessed, Eleanor was the power behind everything.
