Page 42 of Wolfsbane Hall #1

“Tonight is about unveiling your secrets, not mine.”

“True.” He wrapped one of her blonde curls around his finger. “Then tell me this. If you could have a future with one of us, would you?”

Yes. Of course, I would choose you. But she didn’t allow herself to say it out loud. “It’s not a question worth pondering, because it can’t happen.”

“I know.” The confirmation was a blow. But he still had his hands all over her, and his eyes drooped with passion. He wanted to kiss her again. “If I could freeze time in a moment, it would be this one.”

Dean let out a low groan and lowered her to the ground as if he had just realized that he still had her strapped around him. Her feet were jelly on the floor, and he steadied her with a chuckle.

Once she’d gotten her shaky legs under control, she stared at him and said, “I would choose you.” She gulped. “But what if I told you my big secret is that I have no future?”

His large, veiny hands squeezed her shoulders. “Of course, you do. You’ll get far away from my family and become a movie star.”

No, I won’t. Not in this lifetime. “Not if I die from the poison.”

Dean flinched.

“But if I am destined to die tonight, then I think I would like to kiss you again…kiss you like I have no future.” She curled her fingers around his tie and pulled him to her once more, and she kissed him like it was the last thing she would do—because it probably was.

Her heartbeat danced with his, and she pulled him into her so much deeper, asking him never to let her go.

“Let’s make this moment last forever,” she moaned, desperately wanting it to be true.

Celestine crashed her mouth into his with a frantic frenzy of passion. She was going to put everything into this kiss. Everything. She was leaving nothing on the table, because she was on Death’s checklist.

The pure passion and hunger of the kiss caused her knees to weaken, and instead of steadying her, Dean scooped her up into his arms and laid her down gently on the bed, because she was poisoned and fragile.

She allowed it, but she didn’t want to be so weak that she couldn’t even hold herself up for a kiss.

She was too damn fragile.

His lips never left her during the whole motion, so he ended up on her bed, hovering above her as they deepened their passion even further.

Dean’s eyes locked on hers as he stroked his fingers through her hair, sending shivers down her spine, her body hypersensitive to him.

Celestine bit the inside of her cheek and breathed deeply through her nose, not wanting him to see how his touch rattled every piece of her.

She needed a mask of her own, because they couldn’t keep this moment forever.

It would end, and when it did, she wouldn’t be able to keep him.

But, oh, how she wanted to keep him.

Celestine had kissed countless men. She seduced patrons, fucked some of them, and played with the fires of passion every week.

Heck, even tonight, she’d kissed Everett, kissed and fucked James.

But nothing—and she meant nothing—compared to this.

Every kiss before this moment was child’s play, simple practice.

But this one? This one was bottled wildfire and the well of unending life.

It was every promise and every dream she ever had all wrapped into one.

It was home. Because he was home. The Specter was her home and always had been.

Celestine growled. Too many layers of clothes separated them, and she hated it.

Everything heightened between them. Every vessel in her body was hot and needy. Celestine had to touch him. Him, not his clothing.

“You’re wearing far too much clothing.” Her hands clawed up his chest and under his jacket, forcing it off his shoulders.

Then she twirled her fingers into his hunter-green shirt and ripped open the buttons.

If all the men she’d fucked could destroy her clothing, she could ruin some of theirs from time to time, too.

He chuckled, a hand sliding up her leg and underneath her silk dress. “You’re a naughty girl.”

“Yes, I am.” She sucked her lip into her mouth. “Now, be a naughty boy.”

He hummed into her mouth and clutched her by the throat, all dominance and masculine energy. Everything about him was swimming with control and command. Her dark prince. And she was his equal.

With each new caress, her body grew tighter and tighter with need. She was a bowstring, taut and ready for release.

But she really shouldn’t fuck him. It was too dangerous for her heart.

Her teeth nibbled at his tongue for a moment until she bit down hard.

They were war and peace; right now, she was choosing a little bit of war because she wanted to test something.

The elixir was formed from their blood, and it tasted like them.

So she bit down again, causing his blood to gush into her mouth.

There was a hint of metal with orange liquor and coconut.

Celestine stiffened and jolted back, horrified, pushing him off her.

No. It was so wrong. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, and her heart skittered. No. No. No. No. It couldn’t be.

Dean wasn’t the Specter at all. He was far, far worse.