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ChapterTwenty-Three
KINGSTON
Sunday stepped around the corner, her hair mussed, cheeks flushed, and eyes dark with arousal. My wolf snarled deep in my chest, annoyed that our mate looked that way because of another man.
“Kingston,” she said, not a flicker of guilt in her eyes at getting caught by me. “What are you doing?”
“What the hell do you think I’m doing? I’m waiting for you.” I knew she could tell by the bite to my voice that I’d been waiting a while. And that I knew the reason for her delay.
She came close, standing up on tiptoe to press a kiss to my cheek. “You didn’t have to wait.”
“Why wouldn’t I? No way I’m going to let you roam around by yourself when you’re the personification of demon bait.”
One brow cocked, she stared at me. “Demon bait? Really?”
“Yeah. Look at you. If I were a demon, I’d be all over you by now.”
“Not to mention you were singled out in the library attack,” Alek drawled, stepping out of a nearby alley.
“What is this? An intervention?” Sunday grumbled.
“We’re here for you. It’s my job to keep you safe.”
Alek cut me a glare. “Ourjob. I might not be able to mark her, but she’s mine. I feel it... here.” He placed a hand over his heart. “We’re linked.”
Sunday’s eyes went soft at his words, but her voice was still tinged with exasperation. “I don’t remember hiring any bodyguards.”
“You didn’t. It’s the perk of being one of your lovers.”
I rolled my eyes. “Enough. You can write her a fucking poem later. Let’s go.”
As if we’d done it a hundred times before, we moved into position. Sunday at my side, Alek guarding our flank. I’d never admit it out loud, but having the Viking at my back made me feel more relaxed.
The stench ofcityfilled my nose, my sense of smell heightened even through the barrier keeping me from shifting. My wolf was part of me, even if he couldn’t get out. The sickly sweet scent of rotting garbage overpowered everything, and when I glanced into the alley, I found overflowing dumpsters and a bedraggled transient man picking through the trash. It was night here, just as it had been back at campus, which told me this was a simulation and not the real deal. But fuck if it didn’t smell like it.
A low rumble hit my ears as a car approached. Even from a distance, I could hear the heavy bass from the subwoofer. It drew closer, and I grabbed Sunday by the hand, pulling her off the road and onto the sidewalk. Then I positioned myself on her left, keeping her away from traffic. The car rolled past, windows rattling from the volume of the music.
“What are you doing?” Sunday asked when I wouldn’t let her switch sides with me.
“Keeping you safe.”
“By doing what exactly? Shoving me into buildings?”
“Standing between you and the cars. Never know when one might go rogue and come up onto the sidewalk. This way, it will crash into me before touching you.”
She blinked at me, clearly not expecting the answer. “That’s... sweet.”
Alek snickered. “Now who’s the one writing poetry?”
I glared at him. “It’s not poetry. It's chivalry, you asshole.”
Sunday linked our fingers, the connection at once soothing me. I hadn’t realized how much I liked holding her hand until this moment. The casual intimacy was a rush more potent than sex. I was starting to crave the moments with her when she’d brush her lips against my cheek or wrap her arms around my waist so she could rest her head on my shoulder. If someone had told me even a year ago I’d live for those moments, I would have laughed in their face right before punching it, but now... fuck.
Alek put a hand on my shoulder, stopping us. “Wait. Do you smell that?”
I frowned, confused, senses on alert. “What?”
“Brimstone,” Sunday whispered.
