Page 7

The tendrils of the dream world pull me under. I’m adrift in the chaotic current of memories, grasping at half-formed ghosts slipping through my mental fingers.

When it finally recedes, I find myself alone on a winding forest path, shrouded in a thick, eerie fog. Unease prickles along my spine, even as some part of me whispers that this place is familiar. Safe. As if I’ve traversed this shadowed route countless times before.

A strangled cry rends the oppressive silence and my heart seizes in my chest. The sound came from somewhere ahead, half-swallowed by the undulating mist. Fear roots me in place, muscles locked with dread and indecision. But the noise comes again, weaker this time. A dying gurgle, wet with agony.

Or terror.

Swallowing down bile, I force my leaden legs into motion. I creep between the gnarled trees, following the sounds until ghostly shapes materialise through the gloom. Two sturdy trunks, side by side.

And slumped at their feet . . .

The air freezes in my chest. I sway against a nearby tree, grateful for its solidity. A woman lies crumpled in the leaves, dark hair spilling over her face.

And a glistening slash of crimson across her throat.

He detaches from the shadows then. I watch as he plants his feet on either side of her hips and crouches down. When he lifts his head, the weight of his gaze settles over me. Our eyes collide through the mist.

I know the striking angles of that face. An aristocratic bone structure made for marble and oils. Too beautiful to be real. His nostrils flare as if to catch my scent on the breeze.

“Here to haunt me again?”

My pulse stutters, but it’s not fear at being alone and outmatched. No, it’s a darker impulse. Yearning. It takes every shred of will not to go to him, to press close and inhale his scent.

I tear my stare from the striking angles of his face. Fix it instead on his prey.

“Is she still breathing?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

His lip curls in revulsion. “Not if I had any say.”

“Did she offend you somehow, or was she merely a convenient outlet for your fury?”

“What does a wolf care for the rabbit, beyond its use? The wolf feels nothing.” His piercing eyes meet mine. “But you? I’m always angry with you. You more than anyone.”

He moves too quickly. Closes the distance between us in two long strides, so fast he blurs.

Then his mouth is on mine, crushing, punishing.

A brutal assault of lips, teeth and tongue meant to bruise.

To make me pay penance. The rough bark of the oak tree bites into my back as he cages me against it.

And I don’t fight. I yield. I feel his groan vibrate through my chest when I acquiesce to his demand, and I open for him.

His fingers dig into the delicate bones of my jaw. He nips at my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, then laves the sting with his tongue. Copper floods my mouth, but I don’t care. I’m drowning in him, in this stolen moment outside of time.

Beyond us.

His hand fists almost painfully in my hair, wrenching my head aside to bare the join of my throat.

I tense, anticipating the hard press of fangs over my hammering pulse.

My skin prickles with nervous energy, both dreading and anticipating the sharp pierce of pain.

But he only drags his lips up the column of my neck in a searing path, teasing me with the merest touch of fangs.

I gasp out a shuddering breath, my nails raking across the tense muscles of his back in an instinctive response. Marking, claiming. His hips drive forward, pinning me to the oak at my back. Even through our clothes, the unmistakable ridge of his arousal presses insistently between my legs.

My head tips back against the bark, a moan escaping my lips. This stolen intimacy awakens a kaleidoscope of sensations—foreign yet intimately familiar all at once. I am lost, adrift in the heady rush of his touch, his scent, his breath mingling with mine.

“Stop haunting me,” he growls against my skin. Each word a brand. “Stop making me remember how you felt. Stop making me crave you in my fucking dreams.”

We’re both panting harshly. I suck in lungfuls of frigid air, trying to slow my galloping heart. His eyes blaze, wild and half-mad. Savage.

“I want to erase you,” he rasps. “Rip out every memory until nothing remains.”

We stare at each other, suspended on the precipice between violence and desire. The mist presses close, blurring the edges

“Why did you hurt her?” I ask quietly.

His gaze flicks to the crumpled figure. When it returns to me, his face has closed off, turned remote and unreadable. He eases back, the heat of his body replaced by damp chill.

“I was starving.”