Page 7 of Devil’s Night (Vinduthi Captured Mates #7)

NICOLE

T he nightmare lunged at Sargon, its bony claws extended in a lethal swipe. I gasped, my heart pounding in my ears as I watched the deadly dance unfold before me.

Sargon moved with blinding speed, his lithe form twisting and dodging the monster’s strikes with uncanny grace. His red eyes narrowed, calculating each move with razor-sharp precision.

The construct’s jaws snapped mere inches from Sargon’s face, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he seized the opening, driving his fist into its ribcage with a sickening crunch. Shards of bone exploded outward, raining down on the tiled floor.

I flinched, covering my mouth to stifle a cry.

Sargon didn’t relent, raining blow after blow upon the skeletal monstrosity. His fists were like jackhammers, pulverizing bones with each calculated strike. The air filled with the acrid stench of charred marrow and the sickly-sweet scent of decay.

The construct retaliated, its claws leaving deep gashes across Sargon’s chest and arms. But the wounds barely fazed him. Rivulets of deep purple blood trickled down his gray skin, only serving to heighten the feral brilliance of his eyes.

I had to do something, anything to help. My gaze darted around the kitchen, searching for a weapon, a tool, anything that could give Sargon an advantage.

That’s when I spotted it – a heavy cast-iron skillet sitting on the stovetop.

Without a second thought, I snatched it up, the weight of it solid and reassuring in my grip. Gritting my teeth, I waited for my chance, my knuckles whitening as I gripped the pan’s handle.

The construct reared back, its maw gaping wide as it prepared to lunge at Sargon once more. This was my opening.

“Sargon, get down!” I shouted, putting every ounce of force I could muster into my swing.

The skillet connected with the back of the thing’s skull with a sickening crunch, its vertebrae shattering under the impact. The construct collapsed, twitching and thrashing in its death throes.

Sargon didn’t hesitate. In a blur of motion, he pounced, pinning the creature’s thrashing form to the ground. With a vicious snarl, he grabbed its skull in both hands and twisted with all his might. The construct’s neck snapped like a dry twig, and it went limp, finally still.

Silence descended over the kitchen, broken only by the ragged sound of our breathing. Sargon slowly rose to his feet, his piercing gaze fixed on me with a look that made my blood run cold.

“What in the Void were you thinking?” he growled, his words sharp with a dangerous edge. “You could have been killed!”

I swallowed hard, adrenaline still keeping me on the knife’s edge. “I... I couldn’t just stand by and watch.”

Sargon stalked towards me, his movements fluid and predatory. “You’re a fool, human. This is no place for your kind.”

His words stung, but I refused to back down. “Maybe not, but I’m not just going to cower and wait for someone else to save me.”

Sargon’s face was mere inches from mine now, his warm breath fanning across my skin. Up close, I could make out every detail of his features – the sharp planes of his face, the patterns of his intricate markings, the faint ridges of his horns.

And those eyes…cold and compelling, like twin pools of liquid fire.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” he rumbled. “We are predators, hunters born and bred for the kill.”

He reached out, tracing the curve of my cheek with one calloused fingertip. “You would do well to remember that, little human.”

I tried to steady my breathing, to ignore the way my pulse quickened at his touch. “Is that a threat?”

The ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of Sargon’s lips, revealing a glimpse of those wicked fangs. “Perhaps. Or merely a warning.”

Our gazes locked, charged with an electric tension that crackled like static electricity. For a long, breathless moment, neither of us moved, the air thick and heavy with unspoken challenge.

Finally, Sargon broke the silence with a low chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest. “You intrigue me, Carter. Few would dare defy me as you have.”

He leaned in closer, his lips nearly touching mine. I could taste the danger rolling off him in waves, sharp and intoxicating.

“But make no mistake,” he murmured, his words a velvet threat. “I am not one to be trifled with.”

I leaned closer. “I’m not trifling with you, Sargon.”

My voice was only a whisper, but it carried a weight, a challenge. Throwing caution to the wind, I pressed my lips against his.

For a heartbeat, he went rigid, his body tensing like a coiled spring. Then Sargon seized me, his powerful arms encircling my waist and crushing me against him.

He moved over me with a hunger that stole my breath away. There was nothing gentle about his kiss – it was all heat and need, a demand more than a request. His sharp teeth grazed my bottom lip, sending a jolt of electric desire coursing through me.

One of Sargon’s hands slid up my back, tangling in my hair and angling my head to deepen the kiss. The other roamed lower, his calloused fingers tracing the softness of my hip before gripping my thigh and hitching my leg up against his waist.

A strangled whimper escaped my lips as his hard length pressed against my core through the thin fabric of my pants. Instinctively, I rocked against him, craving that delicious friction.

Sargon snarled into my mouth, the sound rumbling like a feral beast unbound. His hips surged forward, pinning me against the cool metal of the kitchen counter. There was no mistaking the thick, heavy length of him straining against his trousers, insistent and demanding.

I should have been afraid. By all rights, I should have been terrified by the strength of his desire, by the raw power he exuded. But instead, I found myself drowning in it, craving it. Craving him.

My fingers tangled in the whorls of his intricate markings as I clung to him, drunk on the heady blend of his musk and the tang of his alien blood. The sharp ridges of his horns grazed my cheek, sending a trill of forbidden pleasure ricocheting down my skin.

Sargon’s lips left a blazing trail of heat along my jawline, his sharp teeth scoring lines of fire across the sensitive skin of my throat. A low, possessive growl vibrated against my pulse point, and I groaned, arching against him shamelessly.

“So responsive,” he purred, his voice laced with smoldering desire. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, little human?”

His hips ground against me in emphasis, the thick ridge of his cock leaving me aching and breathless. I whimpered, digging my nails into his shoulders as I sought an anchor against the scorching tide of need crashing over me.

“I want you,” Sargon rumbled, the words a raw, carnal confession that sent a fresh gush of liquid heat pooling between my thighs. “More than anything in this blasted existence.”

His tongue traced the delicate shell of my ear, his breath hot and ragged. “I crave the taste of you, the scent of your arousal thick on my tongue as I bury myself in your slick, velvet depths “

A strangled moan tore from my lips at the vivid imagery his words conjured. Need coiled low in my belly, an aching, throbbing pulse that begged for release. I shifted restlessly, silently pleading for him to put an end to this exquisite torment.

Sargon chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through me like the rumble of distant thunder. “Patience, little one. The Vinduthi do not rush such…intimate affairs.”

His lips found mine once more, the kiss deep and demanding as he plundered the velvet depths of my mouth with his wicked tongue. I could taste the tang of his blood, the spicy musk that clung to his skin.

When he finally broke away, I was left dizzy and breathless, clinging to him like a lifeline in a storm. My lips were swollen from the brutal onslaught of his kisses, my skin flushed and tingling with the echoes of his touch.

“Look at you,” Sargon murmured, dragging the pad of his thumb over my plump bottom lip. “So flushed and needy, aching for my touch.”

A wicked grin curved his lips. “And to think, you dared to defy a Vinduthi hunter, little human.”

His fingers slid into my hair, gripping the silken strands as he tugged my head back, baring the slender column of my throat. I shuddered, pinned by the molten heat of his gaze.

“Perhaps you’re not as fragile as you appear,” he mused, trailing scorching kisses along the sensitive skin below my ear. “But make no mistake – I could break you with a single, careless touch.”

His tongue flicked out, tasting the hammering pulse at the hollow of my throat. “The question is…do you want me to?”

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice trembling with need. “I want you, Sargon.”

Some primal part of me had been unleashed by his passion, his raw, predatory power. I craved it, yearned for the exquisite danger he promised with every scorching caress.

Sargon’s eyes flared, twin pools of molten crimson blazing with scarcely leashed hunger. A feral rumble emerged from the depths of his chest as he seized my hips, slamming me back against the counter with bruising force.

“You think you can handle it, little human?” he purred, his words filled with dark promise. “You have no idea the pleasures I can make you endure.”

He crashed against me in a searing, merciless kiss that stole what little breath I had left. I moaned into his mouth, my nails scoring lines of fire down the corded muscles of his back, desperate for more of his touch, his taste, his scent.

Sargon growled in approval, the sound vibrating through me in a shudder of pleasure. One of his hands tangled in my hair, wrenching my head back to expose the vulnerable column of my throat. His wicked tongue blazed a scorching trail along the hammering pulse point as his hips rolled against me in a slow, sinuous grind.

“So responsive,” he rumbled against my fevered skin. “So achingly eager for my touch. I can smell the need pouring off you in waves, thick and intoxicating “

His words painted vivid images in my mind – images of him burying his face between my thighs, lapping at the slick evidence of my desire with that wicked tongue. I whimpered, my hips bucking shamelessly against the thick, insistent ridge of his arousal straining against the fabric of his trousers.

“Look around you,” he growled in my ear, his voice a low, guttural rasp of sin. “This place is a filthy, squalid hole, utterly unfit for one such as you.”

My gaze swept across the kitchen, taking in the cracked tiles and peeling paint, the rusted appliances and shattered plates littering the floor. He was right – the place was a wreck, a far cry from the cozy, immaculate homes I was used to. But instead of repulsing me, the squalor only heightened the dark, forbidden thrill.

“I don’t care,” I gasped, arching back against him with wanton abandon. “I know I’m crazy, but I just don’t care.”

Sargon tsked softly, his free hand smoothing my hair. “But I do. Besides, I do not think you would want to come undone so close to the rats.”

His words were like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head.

Good grief.

He really was a devil.