Page 79 of From Hell

He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re not going home.”

“I’m not staying here.” Glaring, blinking rapidly. My eyelids starting to feel heavy.

His gaze flits to the gun on the floor. “Until you can shoot that with your eyes closed, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Suddenly, I’m tired. Too tired to argue. I throw my hands up, the world seeming to spin. “Fine.”

Thank hell for small mercies because Jaxon has a spare room. It’s just as stark and clinical as the rest of his house, but the thousand thread count sheets, the luxurious topper, and the pillows in his guest bedroom more than make up for it.

“It’s not duck down, is it?” I mumble at him, feeling hot and strange as I climb into it.

“I kill people, not ducks,” is his answer.

I guess I can live with that. I’m also too emotionally drained and aroused to argue. It’s been a night of revelations. I shouldn’t be so sleepy all of a sudden, but as soon as my head touches the lovely nest of bedding, darkness welcomes me like an old friend, drowning me in disturbed dreams as fears, old and new, fight me every step of the way.

29

JAXON

Something stirs in the void. I open my eyes. Like a rat cornered, anger surges, unfurling from a dark place in my mind. My hand flies to her throat. “Do not fucking touch me.”

Then I see her demon in the darkness.

Laine is straddling me, an antique-looking knife in her hands, the blade’s edge flush against my neck. As our gazes collide, her eyes bulge as I cut off her air, a snarl on her lips as the knife edge digs in. Excitement erupts in the pit of my stomach and zaps down my spine straight to my cock as pain blossoms where it bites, and my grip tightens.

She gasps.

Fuck. I’m about to kill her.

Swiftly, I break eye contact, tearing my gaze away before the rage can take over, releasing her, my fists clenching in the sheets instead. I wait until the inclination to react viciously melts away to nothing, and my breathing becomes controlled.

She coughs and splutters, catching her breath, her eyes locked onto mine.

I must have passed out and forgot to engage the lock on her door. Assuming that she’d be safe from Shepherd by keeping her here, I forgot about keeping her safe from me. How careless.I let my emotions and a pretty face haunt my dreams. Luckily, she found her knife to even the score. After our little adventure at Henry’s funeral, I put it in a safe place, but not safe enough if it’s back in her hands.

“Monster,” she hisses, voice raw. She shifts on top of me and snarls, keeping the knife poised at my neck. “I’m going to kill you.”

Why hasn’t she? Blood rushes to my cock, making it stiffen, just as desire ghosts under my skin. Fuck, she’s beautiful. I wet my lips, watching her hover over me, eyes like glittering stars, remembering how divine she tasted.

Slowly, I move my free hand to grip her waist. She’s wearing only the T-shirt I gave her and her panties, so the pads of my fingers rest on the softness of her hip. Her skin is fire. She must have got too hot and taken the bottoms off.

I could snap her like a twig, but I love that she keeps fighting. My little fox is pretty amazing. I want to whisper something fun in her ear, a brief acknowledgment from one psycho to another. But that would be irresponsible.

Not yet.

Amusement rises in my chest. “Then do it.” I tighten my hold on her waist. Ready if she tries. I doubt she could kill me with that rusty knife, but she could quite easily injure me, and then, I can’t protect her.

Her eyes blaze, but they have a glazed, faraway look. “I’m ready for you. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

My eyes narrow as I watch her. Not really here, and yet resting her entire weight on my groin.

“Laine, where are you?”

“Hunting monsters,” she hisses.

Tension seeps out of my body. Laine is asleep. She’s so pent-up that she’s confusing the waking world with her nightmares. I used to sleepwalk when I was a kid. It’s how I processed tragedy, or so one of my many therapists loved to fucking repeat after I’d wake up in a strange place with blood on my hands.

If she’s anything like me, Laine needs release. A little piquerism might help her move past this.