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“Fuck,” Hunt said to himself as he looked back. He had gotten far enough for Emma to be invisible in the tunnels, but he still wasn’t as far as he would like. His ankle hurt, making him a lot slower than he would have preferred. “She’ll be alright, yeah.”
As he walked, he didn’t understand why it mattered to him. He had to tell himself over and over—Emma was a Werewolf. So why did he care so much? Why did he feel the way he did when he was that close to her? When he was on top of her. As much as he denied it, Hunt wanted her, badly.
“This is what happens when you spend your entire life getting fucking concussions,” he said to himself as he walked. “I need a drink.”
A growl came from behind him, and Hunt looked down at his watch. It was three in the morning, and she was really feeling the effects of her bloodlust. He tried to move faster. The jacket didn’t really have any magical effects, it was just a placebo trick he had learned a while ago. It was the best he could do considering the resources he had.
Just as he took another step, the sound of footsteps thumping on the ground behind him reached his ear. Hunt hadn’t gotten as much time as he wanted, and with the effects of the bloodlust, Emma was charged up. He turned around just in time, trying to pull his blade free.
But Emma slammed into him at full speed, knocking him to the ground. Before he could recover and roll off to the side, Emma was on top of him, using her knees to pin him to the ground. She stared at him with bloodshot eyes, her breath heaving as she took one last look before she would take his life.
Hunt hadn’t expected to die in the sewers. But considering how many lives he had taken, it would be the most merciful the universe could be to him. He looked Emma in her eyes, waiting for her to finish it.
She leaned forward and kissed him.
Hunt stiffened for a moment, confused and scared. But her growls faded off into passionate breathing, fueled by a different kind of lust. Hunt kissed her back for a moment, taking her in. The warmth of her lips on his own felt heavenly. Their softness was unreal, pressed between his lips as his tongue played with hers, each of their mouths fighting for control over the other. Hunt’s reservations instantly fell away.
Maybe she was a Werewolf, but she was also a woman, and a damningly sexy one at that. His hands ran up her body, going underneath her shirt to explore what lay beneath. His rough and calloused hands felt like sandpaper against her soft smooth skin. Hunt groped at her, feeling his body find a peace that he did not know he could feel.
A moan escaped from his lips.
He didn’t understand why she was kissing him; maybe she had wanted to as well, or maybe it was the bloodlust. But it didn’t matter. At that moment, all that Hunt cared about, all he wanted, was to be with her. He trailed kisses across her neck, moving down to her chest. She pulled her shirt off, offering her bare body up to him.
Hunt spun her around and placed her back against the floor gently before descending on her swollen breasts.
It felt liberating, like a weight off his shoulders. Emma moaned with each flick of his tongue, her hands wrapping around the back of his head, pulling him in, deeper, begging for more. His lips and tongue sucked, and his fingers played withthe other. Channeling magic to his fingertips, he made them icy cool while his tongue remained warm, giving Emma’s nerves a sensation that brought her to the edge.
Her hands reached down to his shirt, fighting with the buttons as she kissed him. Hunt didn’t need more motivation. He undid his shirt while she reached for her pants, fiddling with the button. Hunt pushed her against the wall, pinning her against it as he kissed her chest.
“God, I want you,” Emma moaned, biting her lips.
“Yeah?” Hunt replied breathlessly, dropping his pants.
He pushed her against the wall, looking to lift her legs up to give him the freedom to enter her. As Hunt grabbed her leg, Emma stiffened and paused for a moment, letting out a gasp. She put her leg down, turning her head away from him. As Hunt tried to move in to catch a glimpse of her face, he saw a scowling growl etched across it.
“Wait, Emma…”
Hunt forgot the rest of the sentence as everything faded to black.
***
The sound of beeping at his wrist shook him out of the blackness, and introduced a raging headache. Hunt groaned as he opened his eyes, already aware of what had happened. He had been knocked out enough times to know when someone had put him down. But usually, when you were knocked out by a paranormal, there was no waking up from it.
He looked around to see Emma sleeping peacefully in the corner, far away from him. Hunt looked down at his watch to seethat it was morning, past nine. Emma had knocked him out and made it through the rest of the bloodlust phase. Hunt checked his leg and saw that the swelling had gone down, and it would allow him to walk better, but there would still be some pain.
“You know, not everyone appreciates being knocked out,” Hunt began, knowing she would hear him.
“Good, you’re awake. We’ve lost enough time as it is. We have to keep going,” Emma said, getting to her feet. She hadn’t been asleep, just pretending to be. Hunt could see that she had regained her composure.
“Yeah, we have,” Hunt said, biting his lip. She hadn’t said anything about the events of the night before. “So about last ni—”
“What about it?” Emma shot at him, showing how unwilling she was to talk about it.
“Well, you knocked me out. I deserve an apology or some shit. That’s not how this is going to work.”
Emma ignored him and began walking. Hunt got to his feet and followed along, heading in the same direction he had been going. She had returned his jacket, so he hung it around his shoulders. During the night, the temperatures in the tunnels had plummeted, but in the daytime they would rise to a sweltering heat that was often unbearable.
Emma was pretending like what happened the night before hadn’t happened. She barely looked at him, and as they walked, she didn’t attempt to make any conversation. Hunt could tell that she was repulsed by him, and probably by herself for allowing it to happen. Maybe it was the bloodlust that had blinded her, and he had allowed himself to get carried by desire as well.
