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His lips licked against mine. He grabbed my jaw and splayed his hand over it, opening my mouth to his.
His kiss was the opposite of mine. Where I asked for permission, he took everything, and more.
He slanted his head and pressed my chest firmly against him. The heat flowed from him into me. His tongue curled over mine, and I moaned at the taste of him. The cinnamon and dark spices were still there, at the edge of the kiss.
It wasn’t the whiskey. It was all Logan.
I kissed him back, arching up to him further, wanting to taste more.
Logan ripped his mouth away. “That’s what I wanted to do to you earlier,” he panted, staring down at me. He gently rubbed his lips over my forehead, then down to my cheeks.
Logan swept his hands through my hair as he placed a single brief kiss on my lips.
Why did it feel like that was a good-bye kiss?
I gasped as the spicy sweet flavor from kissing Logan turned to tar in my mouth. I pulled back, chilling at the distinct flavor. It tasted like grief and rage. They had a distinct smell, and now they had a taste. My nails bit into Logan’s shoulder, breaking the skin.
A high-pitched mewling sound echoed through the gorge, freezing both of us in place.
Logan twisted his body, pinning me behind him. We both turned toward the haunted cries.
The wailing pierced the rocks and flayed over our skin like daggers. It intensified as Logan and I gripped our ears. Small drops of crimson trickled from them. The wails were so painful, I wanted to crawl into the rock itself. The shrieks of rage crept closer.
I squinted my eyes against the shadows of the setting sun. They danced and swayed, creating mirages of movement on the ridges.
But then I saw it.
The decaying milky-white flesh was covered in blood-red markings from its skull to its hands.
