Page 37 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

My fingers tighten around the handle, but I don’t lift the blade.

Something in his eyes, a raw honesty that disarms me and I hesitate.

He sees me, really sees me. The monster.

The killer. The darkness I’ve spent my life controlling.

And instead of running, he kisses me as if I am everything perfect and precious to him.

He sees my demon, and he smiles. Perhaps he even recognizes it through his own.

This is madness.

My thoughts are a riotous mess of fear and a terribly dangerous curiosity.

Wild’s FBI. He’s tried to arrest me for weeks; wants to put me in a cage. He will be the end of me if he realizes I’m not only a killer, but the killer he’s been hunting. Wraith.

The rational part of me, the part clinging to survival, screams to fight, to run, to do anything to escape the magnetic pull of his gaze. But another part—a reckless, impulsive, desperately lonely part—wants to surrender. To entirely melt into him and experience being wanted and accepted.

He sees me. Maybe he’s the only one who can see me for who I am.

Terrifying and intoxicating.

The scalpel slips from my fingers, clattering against the steel. A subtle act of surrender, a conscious choice to pause walking down the path I’ve carved.

I’m breaking my own rules. I’m letting someone in. Allowing myself to be vulnerable. What the fuck is wrong with me?

His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining, a silent promise, a shared acknowledgment of the danger we’re both courting. He lifts my hand away from the scalpel, pressing it to his lips, a tender caress against my knuckles, a brand that sends shivers down my spine.

“You don’t have to be alone in the dark,” his voice a low rumble against my skin. “I see you, Heathen. All of you.”

His gaze is intense, a mixture of desire and something akin to obsession, a dark hunger that mirrors the one growing inside me.

And in this moment, I give in. I allow myself to be pulled into his gaze, to be consumed by the heat simmering in the heated depths.

He peels away my defenses, one by one, his touch a slow, deliberate exploration of my skin.

His fingers on my jaw, my throat, my collarbone.

A dangerous, decadent descent into the heat of the abyss.

I follow willingly, knowing he might be my undoing.

I’m too far gone to turn back now.

His mouth finds mine again, with more urgency, more hunger.

His hands are everywhere now, exploring, claiming, sending shivers of delight and fear through every cell of my shaking body.

And as I lose myself in his touch, I realize I’ve never felt more alive.

Wild’s a threat, a promise, a mirror reflecting the monster I’ve tried to bury.

And I’m falling willingly into a darkness we both somehow understand.

He pulls away, his breath ghosts over my lips, and for a moment, the world is just the two of us, suspended in the aftermath of that kiss.

His intense gaze tells me everything has changed, a certainty that chills me to the bone.

Then, just as quickly as he came, he’s gone.

He backs away with a devilish quirk of his lips, but not another word, leaving me alone in the cold, sterile prep room with the dead. Longing for his heat and passion.

The snick of the door closing behind him, a jarring sound that breaks the spell. I shake my head in disbelief. Wild just turned my world upside down. Again, dammit.

The lingering scent of his cologne mixes with the metallic tang of blood and the cloying sweetness of fresh donuts, a disturbing cocktail that makes my stomach churn. The space feels colder now, the warmth of his touch replaced by the chill of the steel table and the harsh glare of the lights.

My body still hums with the aftershocks of his touch, the ghost of his lips lingering on mine.

What the fuck was that? Last night with Blade and now with Wild?

I need to get my head in the game or I’m going to be behind bars or six feet under the ground.

But if that’s what they really wanted, I’d already be dead.

Both men are forces of nature to achieve their goals. Why are they playing games with me?

Fear, confusion, arousal all swirl together into a nauseating vortex matching thoughts that threaten to pull me under.

Boo makes a soft chittering noise, asking for my attention again.

I shake my head and reach for the scalpel, the familiar weight grounding me.

My fingers trace the sharp edge lightly, the cold steel a welcome contrast to the heat still simmering beneath my skin.

I could have killed him. I should have killed him.

The logical choice, the smart move, the only way to ensure my survival.

But I couldn’t.

A stark realization, a terrifying acknowledgment of the reckless path I’ve chosen. I let him in. Whether or not or I want him to, he sees me. I let him touch me. I surrendered to the dangerous intimacy we’d created, and now I’ll have to deal with the consequences.

He has all the wrong motivations in his head. He thinks I’m working with Blade rather than paying off his debt.

The knowledge is an icy hand squeezing my heart.

He isn’t repulsed; he’s drawn to my darkness too.

What a twisted sort of validation, a perverse form of acceptance that makes my stomach clench.

A shiver races down my spine, a mix of fear and a strange, unsettling excitement.

He’s not just an FBI agent. He’s something more, something dangerous.

Wild’s a predator, like me, and that makes him even more fascinating and dangerous.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the images, the memories, the feelings. But it’s no use. They’re there, simmering beneath the surface, a constant reminder of our delightful game of cat and mouse.

He calls me Heathen. The name is a brand, a mark, a recognition of the darkness within me and of his desires. A name that both repels and fascinates, a dark seduction that has taken root in my soul, and if he’s telling the truth, his too.

He wants me as I am.

Unlike Blade, who always wants to protect me, to shield me from the darkness, until he pushes me away and leaves me. Wild embraces all of who I am. He wants me. And that makes him even more dangerous.

My hand tightens around the scalpel, the cold steel a stark reminder of my power, my ability to kill, to destroy. But the thought of using it on him is strangely unsettling; he’s already claimed a part of me, a piece of my soul I don’t have the strength to take back.

Beware the devil you know.

The phrase echoes in my mind, a warning, a promise. He’s the devil I know, the one who sees me, the one who understands me, the one who could very well be my undoing.

I open my eyes. Wild’s gone, but his presence lingers. A ghost, a promise of a future that’s both terrifying and exhilarating. I’m not sure what he wants from me, but I know one thing: he won’t let me go. And a part of me… a dark, twisted part… doesn’t want him to.

What the hell is a girl to do when she’s dancing in the shadows with not one but two devils who might destroy her?