Page 18 of Ruthless Alpha (Nightfire Islands Alphas #3)

Kissing Xander a second time had not been on my agenda.

At the time, it felt like I had no other option, like my whole body would mutiny if I didn’t close the gap between us, but once he pulled away, my brain had come back online, and I spent the night tossing and turning, my mind and my body at war with each other.

The dangerous, wanting part of me insisted that it didn’t matter, that I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go home anymore.

It had been easy to tell myself that witches were awful and our Alpha was always right when I lived on Arbor, because thinking otherwise could get me killed, but now—now I’d had a taste of what it was like not to hate myself, not to hide myself.

I wanted the freedom to explore that; I just didn’t want to do it on Ensign.

This wasn’t the only island in the archipelago where witches were respected—I could go elsewhere, start a life just for myself.

The problem was that I’d now kissed Xander twice, and I wanted to do it again.

I felt haunted, hunted by my need to be close to him.

My wolf rolled onto her belly with her haunches in the air whenever he so much as looked in my direction, but I was more than that animal desire.

I needed fresh air and the freedom to roam.

I needed to know I didn’t owe anyone anything, that the roof over my head was my own, not my master’s.

My sword clattered to the ground for the third time in as many minutes, and Xander sighed.

“Are you even trying today?” he teased. I huffed, annoyed. I was trying my best, but I was distracted and sleep deprived, and it was all his fault.

“Will you just—just give me a minute?” I panted.

Xander picked up the sword, passing it back to me with a nod.

“Drink some water,” he ordered.

I tried to clear my mind as I sat on the ground with my glass of lukewarm water, my back against the wall, and my thoughts a noisy muddle of conflicting desires. I wanted to crack open my skull and let it all pour out so I could think clearly again.

Instead, I wrapped both hands around the hilt of my sword.

I didn’t really understand what Eve had meant by “channeling my magic”, but the connection I felt to my weapon had to be good for something.

If I could tap into that connection and push all those messy, angry thoughts into the steel, perhaps I’d stop embarrassing myself.

Perhaps the weapon would hear my cry for help.

I took a deep breath, centering myself the way Eve had said I should.

I thought about Xander, about the way his hands felt on my body and the way his smile made my stomach flip.

I thought about my imprisonment on Ensign and my desperate need for freedom.

I thought about my life on Arbor—all the ways I missed it and all the ways I was glad it was behind me.

Then I thought of Xander again, his lips hot on mine and his arms strong around me and—

“Uh. Rosie. I don’t want to alarm you, but your sword is glowing.” Xander’s voice brought me back to reality, but I hardly registered his words.

“Huh?” I said, opening my eyes as I realized exactly what he’d said. The ripples of gold that decorated the blade had begun to shimmer and dance, emitting a faint glow that cast the basement in warm light.

“How are you doing that?” Xander whispered, as if afraid that raising his voice would scare the light away.

“I don’t know,” I whispered back, cautiously rising to my feet.

“Well, whatever it is, keep doing it.”

I closed my eyes again, trying to feel for where I’d made the connection. Sure enough, I could feel something there; it was thin and fragile, a single thread of magic flowing out of me and into the blade.

“Okay, stand back,” I told Xander. “I’m going to try something.”

I had no idea what that something was, but he didn’t need to know that.

His eyes were on me as I readied myself, flicking from my face to my hands on the hilt to the blade itself and back again.

Nervous excitement was pouring off him, and I was no less jittery as I raised the blade above my head.

As I brought it down, I pushed power along that single thread, sending out all my frustration, fear, and desire.

“Holy shit!” Xander exclaimed as a golden rope of light burst from the end of the sword, twisting and cracking in the air, curving until it found its target: him.

The light wrapped around his middle like a whip, and I panicked for a second, certain I was about to see him sliced in half before my eyes, but he only gave another shout of amazement.

I stood frozen, my hands still holding the sword out, the two of us connected by that single strand of pulsing golden light.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“No, it’s just… warm? Kind of tickly.”

“Oh. Okay.” My magic was warm. It was kind of tickly. It wasn’t just destruction and evil. Xander reached out with a single finger, plucking the taut string between us: it vibrated, emitting a single warbling note, and Xander grinned.

“This is so fucking cool.”

I couldn’t help smiling back.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s pretty fucking cool,” I agreed.

“I kind of like having you at my mercy like this.” I didn’t know what had compelled me to say it, but later, I would absolutely blame it on the sword.

No matter what Eve said, that thing had an agenda.

I felt Xander’s breath hitch, the jolt in his chest traveling down that string of light until I felt it against my palms. I tugged the weapon toward me, thrilled when Xander took an unsteady step forward at the same time.

“You’re humoring me,” I said, breathless, and he shook his head.

“Nah. It wasn’t—it’s not that you’re suddenly stronger than me, but it’s like I was… compelled? Like my body moved without my brain’s permission.”

That sent a satisfied thrill through me—it was about time he got a taste of the way he made me feel.

I tugged again, and he took a steadier, more certain step forward.

I did it again. And again. And again. With every step of his slow, halting journey, my heartbeat grew a little faster, my breath coming in shallower gasps.

What was I going to do when he reached me?

It was too late to be asking that question, because he was already there, within touching distance.

“You gonna let me go?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

“I don’t know how,” I confessed, and he smiled.

“Just do it,” he said. “Let go.”

I dove down inside myself again, feeling for the place my magic sprang from. I could have done it, could have broken that fragile thread, but I hesitated. What if I could never access it again? What if once I broke it, it was broken forever?

“Rosie?”

One large, rough hand came up to cover mine on the hilt of the sword—and the world turned upside down.

The weapon fell from my fingers, clattering unnoticed to the ground as the rope of light flickered and went out. The place where Xander touched me burned. My heart was going to beat out of my chest. My breath caught in my throat.

When my eyes met Xander’s, it was clear I wasn’t the only one so affected. A rumbling growl was building in his chest, eyes intent on me. I knew what this was, and so did he.

The mating bond.

It didn’t make sense—this wasn’t how the bond worked, and we both knew it—but that didn’t stop us crashing together. The kiss was artless and desperate, but it was the best kiss we’d ever shared—the best kiss of my life—and it sent hot shivers all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.

“Fuck—” Xander panted as he tugged at my shirt, ripping the loose tee over my head. “Fuck, I—I knew it had to be you.”

Then he was on his knees, covering my breasts with wet kisses, reaching around to unclasp my bra.

Perhaps I should have been concerned by the ease with which he achieved his goal, but I was too busy luxuriating in the soft heat of his mouth on the sensitive skin.

The moment I was free from my lace and wire prison, his mouth moved to my nipple, sucking and nibbling at the pert nub.

Every lick and tug sent heat pulsing between my legs, and I couldn’t hold back a high whine, burying my fingers in his hair.

His hands weren’t idle while his mouth worked; they were busy with the fastenings of my pants.

Or was that only one hand? It must be, because the other was stroking my back.

There was so much sensation , from the sharp bites he left on my breasts to the cool air hitting my bare legs as he tugged my pants down and helped me step out of them.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, as if it were the truest thing he’d ever said. His hand slipped between my legs to where my underwear was damp with arousal, running a single finger over the ruined cotton.

I whimpered, unable to protest even if I wanted to. My body was begging for his touch, demanding things I had no knowledge of. I shifted, spreading my legs to make room for his hand between my thighs, and he let out a soft, awed breath.

I was trembling as he pushed my panties down my legs, reverent, like this was a sacred ritual he was honored to perform.

He pressed a soft, close-lipped kiss to my sternum as his fingers found the hungry, wanting space between my legs.

I was so wet, his fingers gliding across my aching flesh, rubbing and coaxing until he found one perfect spot that made me cry out and grasp his shoulders for stability.

“Good girl,” he purred, lining up a single finger with the slickness at my entrance.

When he slipped in, it was so much more than I’d ever experienced, even on the few occasions I had let my own hand wander between my legs.

I barely knew what to do with myself, but he was playing me like a familiar instrument, crooking that finger to press against something I didn’t even know I’d had inside me.