Page 60 of Dance With A Devil

“Don’t stop on my account,” Maeve cuts in, placing steaming mugs of Irish tea in front of us. “Drink. You’ll need it.”

She disappears before we can speak.

Wyck doesn’t wait. “My father drugged Athens. Married her while she was unconscious. That’s why she doesn’t remember. And he owes your fathers money. They beat the shit out of him because he was stalling.”

I go still.

The rage that pulses through me isancient.

“I want to knowwhyhe married her. Why he owes them. Why she was the price.”

Wyck nods. “We all do. We need the others in on this. We’re running out of time.”

“We tell them first thing,” I growl. “This shit runs deep. And when she finds out… everything’s going to break.”

Wyck’s eyes harden. “Then we’ll hold her together. Or we’ll burn the world until nothing’s left but us.”

We drain our mugs, finish forming a plan, then return to bed like shadows slipping back into place.

She’s curled between the sheets, soft and oblivious.

But not close enough.

I slide in, wrap my arms around her, and pull her on top of me, burying my face in her hair.

“Couldn’t just share, could you?” Wyck grumbles, already half-asleep.

“Nope.” I whisper.

I hold her tighter, feeling the storm on the horizon.

And I smile.

Let it come. We’re Devils. We were born in the dark.

And we’ll make suretheydie in it.

Chapter Twelve

Athens

The sun slashes across my face like a blade, too bright, too cheery, too fucking intrusive. But oddly, I don’t hate it. After days of shadow and silence, its heat feels earned. Like a bruise I get to keep.

I blink into the light, stretch…and immediately realize I’m not alone. I’m cocooned, pinned between two bodies that own me in very different ways.

Hard muscle. Scorching skin. The scent of sex and danger baked into the sheets.

Karter and Wyck.

They’ve made a habit of caging me like this. I haven’t protested once.

I tilt my head. Both of them are already awake, watching me like they’ve been doing it for hours.

“How long have you two been staring at me like creeps?” My voice is sandpaper and sleep.

Wyck smirks lazily. “Long enough to memorize every breath you take.”

I blink slower. His arms open. I fall into them without hesitation. His chest is a furnace I willingly burn inside.