Page 7

He settles into the mattress with a soft, breathy sigh, his head rolling to the side. Carefully, I unlace his boots and tug them free.

Now that we’re bathed in the warm, flickering glow of the hearth fire, I step back and take him in properly.

He’s fucking breathtaking in his defiance. Even now, muddy and completely out cold, there is a stubborn, unbreakable strength in the set of his jaw. He was so damn terrified down at those crossroads, yet he looked straight into the pitch-black void beneath my hood and demanded a deal instead of crying for mercy. He didn’t crumble under my gaze. When most humans would’ve pissed themselves or run, he didn’t. He made sure I wouldn’t hurt him, then agreed.

He traded his freedom to survive. Something I can relate to.

Something I can respect.

Fascinating.

I pull off my thick wolf pelt, letting the dense fur drop onto a nearby armchair. I unbutton my tailored suit jacket, tossing it aside, and roll up the sleeves of my dark dress shirt, revealing the deep blue shade of my skin and the dark, intricate shadow runes tattooed along my forearms.

I lean down over the bed, resting one knee on the mattress as I study his injuries. My dark amusement fades instantly, replaced by a cold, sharp rage that sets my blood simmering.

Now that his wet clothes are exposed to the firelight, the true extent of his ordeal becomes painfully clear. His shirt is torn at the shoulder, soaked in dirt and dark crimson blood. I gently reach out, my clawed fingers carefully hooking into the collar of his shirt, and rip the fabric in two, peeling it back to expose his upper chest and collarbone.

‘Please, I’ll do anything.’

Anything. Anything. Even now the word still pings around like an echo in the air.

His hands were trembling with desperation, and yet he still begged for a monster to appear. But the thing that truly fascinated me wasn’t his fear. It was something even more delicious. Fury.

Fire and fury so suffocating it made me hard. This little human isn’t like the rest. There’s something dark inside this beautiful angel, and I want to find out what it is.

Flames flicker in the fireplace behind me. That’s when I see it. Shadows fade, and in their place are colorful bruises. Who the fuck touched what’s mine?

A low, dangerous growl rumbles out of my throat. I’m not even entirely sure it’s solely from the hound or me. Probably both.

Livid, dark purple bruises mar his pristine skin. Fingerprint-shaped marks circle his collarbone and arms—unmistakable signs of violence and abuse. His chest is crisscrossed with shallow scratches from his desperate flight through the briars, and his right knee is swollen where he crashed into the mud. Even his fucking ankle is swollen, unlike anything I’ve seen before.

Gregory.

That spineless, corrupt little politician laid his filthy hands on him. He bruised this skin. He chased this human through the freezing rain like game for sport. The Devil Dog inside me snaps its jaws, a surge of raw hatred bleeding into my conscious thoughts. Kill him. Kill him. Rip out his throat. Only we chase what’s ours.

“I should’ve slaughtered them all at the crossroads,” I whisper softly, my crimson eyes narrowing as I stare at the purple bruises wrapping around his collarbone. “I should’ve peeled the damn flesh from their bones before they could take another step.”

I force myself to take a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent rising from the human’s skin. Underneath the metallic smell of blood and the damp stench of rain, there is something else. Something sweet. Bright. Utterly addictive. It smells like warm brown sugar and wildflowers.

My shadows react to my mood, pouring off my shoulders like dark liquid silk. I sit on the edge of the mattress and reach out, hovering my hands over his bruised chest. He needs to be healed. The thought of this little creature suffering even more tugs at my dead heart, and a part of me hates him for it. Regardless, that damn sentimental side wins. My magic is bound to the darkness, but the Devil Dog’s power is tied to life and death.

“Hold still, little bird,” I murmur, though he can’t hear me.

I extend my shadow tendrils, directing the fine, wispy threads of dark magic down toward his skin. The shadows touch his pale chest gently, sinking into his pores like warm velvet liquid.

The human shifts under my touch, a soft, pathetic whimpering sound escaping his lips as the magical heat makes contact with his injuries. He arches his back slightly, his head tossing against the dark pillows. Fuck, he paints a tempting picture.

“Shh,” I purr, bringing my other palm up to cup the side of his face. My thumb rests against his cheekbone, feeling the soft, smooth texture of his skin against my calloused, claw-tipped hand. “I promised I’m not going to hurt you.”

I channel the magical energy of the Devil Dog through my palms, weaving it together with my shadow magic. The dark tendrils pulse with a deep crimson glow as they work beneath his skin.

Slowly, magically, the dark purple bruising on his collarbone begins to fade. The swollen tissue around his throat relaxes, the damaged capillaries knitting back together under the soothing, intense heat of my power. The shallow cuts on his chest close up, leaving behind smooth, untouched skin.

As the pain recedes, the tension drains from his body. His head sinks deeper into the mattress, his breathing shifting from shallow, ragged gasps into slow, normal puffs. I watch the miracle of his recovery, fascinated by how small he looks under my palms. He’s so fucking fragile compared to me. One squeeze of my hand could break his elegant neck.

One flex of the hound’s jaws could crush his collarbone. Yet he bargained with a demon without flinching. The thought surfaces again. In all my years, it’s something I’ve never witnessed before.

My shadows linger on his skin, reluctant to pull back. They trace the line of his jaw, swirl over the hollow of his throat, and rest over his heart, feeling the steady beat against his ribcage.