Page 16

The crowd falls silent and all attention pivots to the familiar silhouette moving with slow, measured strides to stand before us. His jeans and T-shirt have been replaced by a pair of loose, satin trousers that hang low on his hips. Low enough that the V is deep and every square is chiseled to perfection across his toned stomach.

The stage lights kiss his olive skin to a warm gold and tease the highlights in his black hair to an almost metallic blue.

He looks so calm. So controlled and human.

He exhales, slow and steady, and closes his eyes.

The surge of power that floods the arena is something, apparently, only I can feel. None of the other performers or audience have ever mentioned it, but it scatters across my skin and tingles at my fingertips. The hum fills my ears with the low ping of a metal fork.

I could be anywhere in the world and I would know the moment Warrick stepped into Aiden’s skin or vice versa. I am so intertwined with both of them it’s hard to determine where they start and I end.

In the arena, Aiden sucks in a breath, expanding the broad width of his chest. The muscles of his shoulders flex and roll. His neck follows the motion. The crowd may not notice it, but the tips of his hair have a light trimming of frost. His skin is darker. They only notice when his eyes open and crimson orbs glare back.

Their collective gasps usually amuse me, but I’m captured in the fiery infernos. They pin me to my seat, hot with hunger. It’s like getting cornered by a starving wolf. A predator shedding all his humanity.

His skin ripples as his frame stretches. Bones shift beneath the surface. White hair spills over his forehead, cascading in stark contrast to the abyss of his skin. His hands flex, fingers lengthening, black talons curving from the tips.

And then his mouth.

The skin pulls, reshaping, parting at the corners until there is nothing left but rows of gleaming fangs in a jagged line to his ears. His tongue flicks out, already split at the center before fusing together and slipping back into his maw.

Around me, the room holds its breath. The silence is so expansive, the only sound is Warrick’s low grumbling and my heart thundering in my chest.

His tail snaps behind him, barbed coil unfurling. Reminding me that I came all over it last night.

The place it invaded thrums. It pangs with a longing to feel it again. To be in Warrick’s arms again.

The creature in question hasn’t taken his eyes off me. Even as he stands fully formed, he’s not doing his act. Instead, he’s stalking across the arena. Long legs taking wide strides straight in my direction.

It should be terrifying, but I have to stop myself from lifting my arms like a child and letting him scoop me up.

I don’t have to. His tail lashes out and twists around my throat. I’m dragged out of my seat straight into his hold, into his chest, and locked in place by his claws around my waist.

“Warrick.”

My whimper is ignored as he buries his face into my neck and inhales deep. My hands slide up his neck into the downy strands of hair at the back of his head, holding him in place against me.

“Your little pussy is so wet. So ready. You’re making my cock ache. I want to claim you right here in front of all these people and let them watch me breed your greedy hole. But your cunt is for my eyes only. The thought of anyone else seeing you like that makes me want to gouge out their eyes and make them eat it.”

I don’t think I’m supposed to giggle, but he smirks down at me when I do.

“You’re supposed to be doing your act.”

His tongue snakes out and flicks over my lips. “I’d rather be doing you.”

I snort and give him a gentle nudge. Yet, I’m disappointed when his tail unravels and he takes a step back, but not before brushing my cheek with a knuckle.

“Don’t be late tonight, little human. Your pussy will be severely punished.”

My pussy does not take the threat for what it is. It soaks my panties with anticipation.

Warrick must have sensed it because his smirk is triumphant as he pivots on his heels and makes his way back to the arena.

“My goodness,” the woman on the bench next to me gasps. “If that’s part of the act, me next.”

The brunette next to her nods, cheeks pink as she watches Warrick’s muscular back flex under the harsh lights.

“He can do anything he wants to me,” she breathes, hands flat to her chest like she’s having heart palpitations.