Page 132 of As Above, So Below

“Let him come,” Ryc growls, striding toward me, the expression on his face pure darkened anger. “Why are you out here alone?”

Shaking my head, I back away, dragging my feet over the cool stone, trying not to stumble. Not to fall. But the stone is slick with blood, and I lose balance.

In an instant, strong arms catch me, wrapping around my waist. I’m lifted upright before I meet the street for a third time.

Fucking light take me.

Being pressed against him is nothing short of tempting disaster. Ryc is a wicked temptation, all wrapped up in a black silk button down shirt and well-tailored black pants. The raw power and strength of his muscled body against mine turns my breathing ragged. I stare at his chest, my fingers curled tight around his open jacket. I’m not brave enough to meet his stare.

But one thing is clear.

I need to get away from him.

Far, far away from him.

“You’re not immune to bloodlust?” The deep sound of his voice causes my stomach to tighten, fanning the fire.

He lifts my face to his by my chin, and through my lashes I peer at him.

“I’ve never been bitten,” I manage through clenched teeth.

Pushing aside some of my fallen hair from my shoulder, he reveals the bite on my neck. Webbing tendrils of venom pulse with my heartbeat under my skin, black against pale.

He huffs, shaking his head.

“Not immune it seems.” He grins.

The way I could stare at his grin all day is absurd.

My grip on rational thought is about to be swept away, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“I can help you with the venom,” he says, and I drag my eyes from his lips to meet his stare. “But you have to trust me.”

“Do. Not. Touch. Me,” I manage to grit out.

Iwantto step back, but my legs do not listen.

Iwantto ferry to the temple, but my innate is feeding into the desire.

Arching a brow, he smiles. “Can you control yourself, little demon?”

“Leave me and I’ll be fine.” I’ve lied a lot today, to others and to myself.

He laughs, a genuinely amused sound. It shoots right down my spine, and I shudder against it.

I’m struggling for mylifeagainst this suddenneedand he’s fuckinglaughing.

No.

There are better things he can be doing with his mouth.

I want him moaning and begging for more beneath me—writhing for his own release. Pressing myself against him, my hands slide up his chest, clasping around the back of his neck. Drawing him to me, I raise myself on my toes, our lips brushing. He remains frozen, his eyes fixed intensely on mine as his arms fold around me.

How easy it is to meld into him.

And how right it feels.

“You need to get away from me,” I warn, my voice not sounding like my own. It’s smokier, deeper—like the voices of the succubi.