Page 10

She stepped toward him, mouth tight, eyes lit with defiance. “Now’s a good time to stop bullying the tiny girl half your size.”

Her challenge set off a pulse behind his fangs. He tore down the barrier and dove into her.

She hit his power like fire, emotions curling up around him like smoke and sugar and something darker underneath. His body locked as he went deeper. The air changed. Heat twisted with sweetness. Sharpness with surrender.

He slid his tongue along his teeth and tasted her conflict. Not dark. Not innocent. Filthy and clean. His cock throbbed. His Rage whispered for control. His Lust whispered for clarity.

Then he felt it—her fear. But it was no match for what she craved. Raw need. Unfiltered.

“My apologies, Miss Juniper,” he said, forcing his gaze from hers. “This job is new to me. Forgive my ignorance.” He dropped to the floor and began folding her clothes with surgical focus.

“I… I can do that,” she said softly, kneeling beside him and snatching the clothing away from him while clutching her clothes in her other arm.

He let her. The wall still down, her thoughts danced in color and contradiction. She wanted to hide. She wanted to be seen. She didn’t want him to see and yet absolutely did.

A black piece from her bundle slipped free.

They both reached.

He was faster.

He gripped the fabric, intent on handing it over. But something old and possessive jerked inside him. He refused to release it.

She grabbed for it and his hand snapped closed over hers as if she’d triggered a snare.

She froze in his grasp as her scent hit him like fuel on an open flame.

“Let… go,” she whispered, her voice bleeding with need for the opposite.

He released her.

She bolted.

He stood slowly, still holding the lace. It wrapped through his power like a brand as he contemplated her reaction. It wasn’t sin. It was shame tangled with being seen and fear of what he saw. And terror of rejection. He paused at the final clue. Her arousal. It was so potent it couldn’t hide.

He returned to his apartment, lace still in hand, Lust prowling in his groin. He sat and followed the tether between them. She was in his bathroom.

The lace lay in his palm, fingers curled around it.

He lifted it to his face….

Inhaled slowly….

Absorbed….

Warmth and life. And the breath of a hunger so deep it scarred. And shame. Woven in the silk. Traces of neglected arousal buried in the fabric. He breathed it, tagging every layer. Recorded every confession. She was like a child with a tear in her spirt. Lost in the woods, dropping crumbs of herself. Not realizing something dark and terrible followed her. Gobbling each cry for help. Feeding his own starved appetite. Building an eternal meal plan.

He slammed the wall back up and stood, sliding the lace in his pocket. He made his way to the kitchen and opened the fridge, roaming his gaze over items, realizing he lacked particular skills. What had she attempted to cook?

“You push for conversation like it doesn’t come with a price—so maybe I’ll shove my fingers past your lips, drag them along your tongue like a promise, and fuck your mouth until even your silence knows who it belongs to.”

Fuck the night.

He pulled his phone out and dialed Kildare. A being who didn’t need to eat but could.

“Yes,” he answered on the second ring, his tone sounding urgent.

“You have updates?”