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Jin sprinted from the outfield. Curling to protect my body with his body, he shielded me to safety.
Now he’s the storm, about to shatter the sky.
His scent rips, ozone sharp.
Danger fires the glands in my throat. My wrists. My thighs. They prickle in desperate warning, coiling to protect me from a threat more dangerous than hail.
I’ve weathered too much shit to snap now.
I square my shoulders and sink roots, refusing to give in to the shame. “What do you want to know?”
“The ones who bit you. Where are they?”
“They’re ash.” I grip the fabric over my throat, trying to blunt the vibration of his saw-toothed growl.
“I’ll take that answer. For now.” Jin stalks closer. “Let’s talk about what you need to know.”
Be firm. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not your—”
“Marisol Meadows.”
My hair lifts with his lightning.
Storm’s about to crash.
“You forgot where you belong.”
A bitter puff escapes my throat. “I never forget that.”
“Good. Come here.” He wears the same low-slung work pants I rode to climax. After our day at the beach, his sun-kissed abs give way to my claw marks on his chest—light and dark, old and fresh.
He looks like mine.
But I resist the electro-magnet desperate to snap me into his arms.
Barely brushing my skin, Jin checks my forehead. “What do you need?”
I shift away from his sizzling touch. “To talk.”
“After.”
“After what?”
“After you let me take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Channeling Bish with the bullshit detector, he curls his lip. “How’s that going?”
I laugh, semi-hysterical.
“I can wait for you to ask for what you want.” He grazes my arm, fingers sparking. “Just let me give you what you need.”
The promise of destruction sinks my stomach undersea.
But it’s Jin. So I have to ask. “What’s that?”
“The pack that’s always been yours.”
