Page 157 of Ballad of Nightmares

She dodged his kiss, the tip of her tongue licking his, her entire body lighting on fire at his touch, at his tease. His fingers tightened in her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her neck, making her smile wide-mouthed and chuckling. Sam towered over her, and just when she thought he might launch her into the next life, he spat in her mouth and pushed her away.

Ana staggered, her breaths fluttering as she caught her balance. But Sam just pushed his hands into his pockets and looked at her through his dark hair. That dominant aura crept into her and ran over every inch of her exposed body, down into the marrow of her bones and the rush of her blood.

He consumed the air, the light, the space.

“Run…my Queen,” came his rasp.

Her heart skipped. She took two steps back down the unfamiliar corridor, and suddenly the darkness swept in on her. Shadows on her every side, sliding up her legs, whispering between her thighs, teasing her curls.

Ana took one more look at him, watched his eyes turn scarlet—

She bolted down the hallway.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

ANA RUNNING DOWN his hall with no knowledge of where to go or what might be at her next turn made his muscles coil in desire. He contemplated how far to let his love go. If he should follow her with shadows and push her where he wanted.

Perhaps to the front of the castle.

Shadows swarmed after her, but Sam didn’t move. He could feel where she was. Every turn she made. Feel her fleeing pulse hovering in the air like a beacon to his greed. He felt her dip into one of the great rooms, the door clicking behind her, and Sam finally moved off his spot.

As much as he wanted to scare her, to tease her slow with each click of his boots, he also wanted to hold her more. So, fleetingly, he played.

He knew Ana had hidden in the ballroom, could feel her beckoning him. He rattled the handle a couple of times, and then he opened the door.

Ana had a piece of glass in her palm, fisting it so tightly that it cut her skin. He could smell it, see it from the mirror on the other side of the room. Shadows curled around the floor, twisting and mending over the hardwood, seeping into the cracks. They trickled around Ana, toying with her hair and grazing between her thighs.

Sam whipped the door back, and Ana rose to her feet to strike.

The glass shard slammed high into his chest, nearly hitting his collar, and Sam laughed at the pain. His head threw back, delirious with delight at her play as the blood trickled down his skin.

“Wicked girl…” He leaned forward, his teeth baring with a snarl. “Do it again,” he hissed.

Ana grasped him around the neck and brought his lips to hers. It was short-lived, and she shoved him after a moment, her nail scratching his skin, but he held on. Their tongues lashed every time they kissed—between every slap and scratch and shove. The piece of glass she’d had in her hand fell to the ground, and the blood from the open gash on her palm wet his cheek and his throat. The smell of it made him wild. The iron and the sour, mixing with her sweat and the sage and spiced vanilla from the shampoo she’d used upstairs.

He was yanking her hair back when he moved to kiss her throat, but she wasn’t having the foreplay. She was unbuckling his pants and tripping on her own. He reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled, sending the stitching in shatters. One stroke of her hand, and he groaned into her mouth. Both his hands wrapped her cheeks as his lips never left hers.

They slammed into the wall, her wrists pinned beneath his tightened hand above her head, paintings knocking dust into the air around them. Her knee wrapped around his waist, and she arched into his chest. He bit her throat, tasted her blood where he’d scratched her, and she wriggled free from his hands enough to push her hands in his hair and claw his scalp. The pain tingled his body and melted a shiver down his spine.

He wanted her claw marks all over his flesh, embedded in the tattoo designs and claiming him as hers.

Because he was. Mind, body, and complete existence.

With the taste of her on his lips, he kissed her again and grasped her breasts, making her breath hitch and her moan into his mouth. He needed to be inside her. He wanted to feel her convulse around him as he fucked her until she couldn’t walk. His shadow stirred, the tattered wings flickering, and he felt her shift.

She pulled back, scarlet lashed across her cheeks and her beautiful lips. Not even the last sunrise he’d seen was as beautiful as she was then. Disheveled, angry, and lustful, her bright eyes boring through him. She held his face in her hands, and every fiber of his body and shadow came alive when she whispered,

“Show me death, Samarius…Keep me.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

I HATE YOU.

I hate you.

I love you.

“What?” he asked breathlessly.