Page 89 of Crave

A creak came from behind me.

I whirled around, my instincts sharper than ever. In a heartbeat I was face to face with a shadowy figure…a man standing in the gloom of the hallway.

“Who are you?”

His eyes widened in recognition, not for who I was…but what I was capable of.

In the blink of an eye I lunged, crossing the space between us in an instant and grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him hard against me. “Where the fuck is she? Where the fuck is my sister?”

Only there was no answer, just a choked hiss of a breath before he shook his head.

Still, it didn’t matter.

It was far too late. Blood called to blood, only it didn’t beg and plead…it howled my goddamn name.

With a savage snarl I drove him backwards, each step faster and faster until the guy slammed against that ornate balustrade and then over…until he was falling…end over end.

CRACK!

The sickening sound made me recoil.

Blood spilled out from the mangled body beside the stairs.

Blood that gleamed spilling across the polished boards.

WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?My conscience howled.

I stared at that mangled body with its leg crooked unnaturally and the wide, unblinking eyes of death on its face. That empty, disconnected feeling of rage moved in, smothering the howl of shock with a clenched, bloody fist.

Wrath was a vengeful mistress…and now she claimed me of my own.

My sister’s face burned in my head as I turned away…her beautiful, haunting cunt of a face. I wanted to punch it. I wanted to hurt it. I flinched as I made my way quietly down the stairs. But more than anything I wanted to love it…and that feeling alone was the most disturbing of them all.

Chapter Twenty-Three

ANGELICA

I grippedthe cold wrought iron fence, staring at the towering dark brick mansion in the distance. Salvation. That’s what I told myself. But even as I stood there, frozen in place, Penn’s frantic messages waited on my phone, each one pleading with me to come to him.,

But he didn’t understand.

I wasn’t worthy of someone like Penn. I wasn’t worthy of anyone. Not anymore.

Angelica. Lincoln’s voice slithered through my thoughts, as clear and venomous as if he stood beside me.Do you want to tell them, or me?

I closed my eyes, but it was a mistake. The memories rushed in bright and brutal.

Blood.

So much blood.

The wrought iron fence creaked beneath my tightening grip, forcing my eyes to open. The gate began to shift, grinding along its tracks. A sleek midnight blue car rolled out of the driveway, its engine purring softly. Sunlight gleamed off the polished hood as it slowed near me. Through the windshield, a man—early twenties, sharp suit, indifferent expression—gripped the wheel with practised ease.

He didn’t look at me.

Not once.

As he sped past, the wind carried the scent of leather and exhaust, tangling with the fading fragrance of Penn’s cologne in my mind. For a moment I thought about stepping into his path.