by Jayla Kane
“Miss… You’re not going to sign, are you?” And that was a new look, one that actually melted my heart a little bit; Hunter is handsome. Being handsome requires a sort of… Aloofness, I guess, a distance that makes a person look kind of above it all. He has sharp cheekbones and a sturdy jaw that was much easier to see now that he hadn’t shaved in a while and thick black stubble highlighted his elegant bones. His nose was straight—kind of a miracle, when I imagined all the fights he probably got into—his eyebrows thick and black beneath a head of close-cropped black hair. Felt like velvet when you rubbed your palm over it. And then you noticed his mouth… It didn’t fit with that hard, aloof face. It was sensual and lush, when he didn’t deliberately fold it in and back, hiding it in a close, firm frown; it didn’t match his bone structure, exactly, because it matched his eyes. Those incredibly beautiful eyes.
He wasn’t just handsome right now. He was beautiful. All that softness inside, pouring out through those eyes, through that mouth, the tug of white teeth on a plush bottom lip.
It made me want to take off all my clothes and beckon him over, laying back so he would kiss me from the hollow of my throat down to the throb in my pussy. So those thick hands would slide across my thighs and lift me in the air as he slid his own massive quads beneath, preparing me, sucking my skin with that exquisite mouth while those eyes bored into mine, as he took me for the first time. It felt very, very frickin’ hot in that cell for a minute.
“Miss.” His voice was harder, and I realized I’d been staring at him. And he had no idea what I’d been thinking at all.
“Yeah, I think I’m going to sign,” I said, my breath shoving out of my chest in a hard blast as I tried to recover my cool. “And Hunter, I think you need to find a way to get Molly out of Ashwood. I think that bitch up there is working with very few other members of the Society, and, well…” I swallowed; his eyes had disappeared into black voids at the mention of his sister’s name, and no one with a beating heart could look at him right now without feeling a spike of adrenaline soaked fear race through their body. “She isn’t just asking college kids to join the Society, is she? I’m a senior, but Molly—she’s your sister, if she’s part of the bloodline—”
That’s all I had to say. He crouched down, his body preparing to jump—where, I didn’t know—and then he froze, and stared at me.
“Miss, please… Don’t.”
“I’m going to,” I said. “I can’t think of a reason not to.”
“Are you serious?” And this was a new face too, a mix of rage and disgust that I’d never seen before. It made me furious, ignited all the latent hatred I had inside for him.
“Fuck you, Hunter! Fuck you. You don’t get to snatch me out of my bed in the middle of the night and cart me over here and act like you’re the hero of this story! You’re not a goddamn white knight, okay? You’re a kidnapper.” I felt my body marching over to his and watched as he stood up taller, impossibly tall, staring down at me with that handsome, aloof face that I was beginning to suspect I hated too. “You did this for Molly? Fine. So go save Molly. But I need to save myself—and not just from that psycho bitch upstairs. From you. From that asshole that tried to strangle me earlier. From this situation, the one you have landed me in.” I held back the urge to slap his face again, but only barely. Instead I tapped my manicured fingernail in the middle of that broad chest, ignoring the memory that soared through my head—I knew what he looked like under that shirt. The shape of his pectorals, the smell of him, the heat of his embrace.
And when I looked into his eyes I knew he remembered too.
“Give me back my power,” I whispered, and I couldn’t keep the note of pleading out of my voice. “Hunter. Please.”
Chapter Twelve
Hunter
I had to fight it off—the whole goddamn thing, the guilt I felt for taking her, the horror of what I’d done, and what she was saying they might do to Molly too. I needed to fight off the animal inside of me that suddenly recognized where that thrum of magic was coming from and wanted to explode out of my body in a blast of protective, feral warning. I needed to fight off my disappointment and rage that Baby would consider the Rose’s offer—would accept it.
Accept magic.
I had to fight off the urge to do exactly what she was asking me to do.
Baby came over to me in a rage, her nostrils flared, her hands raised; I thought she was going to try and hit me again and braced myself for it. But once she was closer… I knew it wasn’t the animal in me that could tell what she really wanted. It was the man.
It was me, Hunter Black, desperate to taste that mouth, to touch that skin, to fuck her until she was raw.
Her nipples were hard underneath that loose cami top; I could see them poking against the delicate fabric, swinging on the tip of each free, full breast as she moved. I could smell her now, too—not just the drench of adrenaline from all the terror she’d dealt with today, no… I could smell her below, the scent that drove me out of my mind nine months ago, so impressed on my brain that I felt my canines elongate at the same time I got hard. Maybe the Society knew I wouldn’t be able to resist her because no man in his right mind could—if she was standing this close, those fire-lit eyes burning into you, that strong, tawny hand tapping your chest… That body, that mouth, and everything beneath it, all the flame promised by her sweet, venomous mind, her wicked words and just her, all of her, the way she stood and sighed and everything… I don’t think anyone could resist.
But I had to.
“I have to go check on my sister,” I said, and then she did slap me. I won’t say it didn’t hurt, but the sting on my cheek was nothing to the way she looked at me afterward—like I’d betrayed her. Worse than when I took her, worse than when she found out who I was, so long ago, back in the driveway.
“Fine,” she hissed. “You’re probably not the only piece of shit around here with a magic—”
“Baby,” I growled, surprising us both, “don’t do this. Look at me—you can’t think that you want to become something like this. You can’t.”
“We have no idea what I’ll become,” she snapped. “I’m not afraid, Hunter. Not of myself. Because whatever it is, it’ll still be me. And I’m all I have now, you stupid, fucked-up redneck—”
“It could kill you,” I snarled. We were chest to chest, neither of us giving an inch, and even though I outweighed her by at least a hundred and twenty pounds we felt pretty fucking evenly matched. “It could maim you, make you a monster—”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” She sneered up at me, her eyes full of sparks. “Afraid it’ll mess up these tits?” Baby took a tiny step back and shook her head, her face a perfect image of disgust. “I knew it. You’re the same kind of piece of shit as every other guy in the whole goddamn world. You think you’re better but you’re not.”
“No,” I growled, “I’m not. But I’m not worried about your tits, either, and you know it. You can’t bait me.” Because she was; that was exactly what she was doing. Wrapping me slowly around one manicured finger so she could get what she wanted by any means necessary.
“I already have, haven’t I?” She spun around once and stared at me. “They chose me because they knew you liked me, somehow. They found out about last year. Who’d you tell? You big, stupid—” She came at me, slapping me for emphasis until I caught her hand and leaned down to snarl in her face.
“You think anyone would be stupid enough to tell that story?”
“You probably told Jake.” She was vicious, our faces inches apart. “He’s probably up there with the frickin’ Rose right now, playing you like a fiddle—”
“He signed the book, and he looks like a goddamn revenant.” I had to fight the urge to snap my jaws, my canines growing longer by the second; there was blood in my mouth, but she didn’t back away. I still couldn’t find it in me to tell her that Raven and Jake were probably sleeping together—that was too low, even in a fight like this one. “Is that what
you want?”
“I want to be able to defend myself the next time a monster sneaks into my bedroom at night,” she hissed at me. “You’re such a gentleman, Hunter—she told me how you carried me, how close we were—were you rubbing your cock against my ass the whole time?” Too late, I realized what she—
I backed up, but I was against the wall. And she was reaching for me, her face…
She hated me. I knew she did, and I didn’t blame her, and I hated myself. Because everything she said was true, every single word: I sold her out for my sister, and maybe it wasn’t my right to decide how she protected herself. Whether she joined this goddamn nightmare club. What she did with the horrible power that monstrous bitch was tempting her with.
But she didn’t get to have me, too. Even if… Even if I…
I couldn’t keep the low groan from leaving my lips as her hand reached down and wrapped around my cock, right through my jeans. I arched into her touch before I could stop myself, and felt her other hot little hand slide beneath my shirt and trace the muscles of my abdomen. I swear to god, just the thought of her touching me like that was almost enough to make me cum. I felt my eyes close as my breath escaped from my mouth, lost in the shock of pleasure at even the idea, just the tightness of her grasp, so fucking needy—
I ripped her hands off of me and snarled in her face like the Wolf I was. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”
“Why?” She didn’t back off an inch.
“Sign the fucking book, then, Baby. You know what might happen.” Her pupils were black, sitting in a sea of caramel, wrapped in flame; I was staring into them like they could talk back to me, like they would say something I wanted to hear, instead of big, stupid redneck, give me your dick so I can turn into a goddamn monster—
And they did.
Baby wasn’t looking at me like she hated me.
She was looking at me like one of those goddamn housewives that want me to spread them open and fill them up. Like she thought I was absolute trash, but… Somehow desirable trash. A bit of rough on a Saturday, something she couldn’t say no to, but would regret like a mid-night run to Taco Bell.
No fucking thanks.
I don’t care how much lust was in that mix, it hurt. It hurt my fucking heart, and then it was a hell of a lot easier to tear away from her grasp. She gnashed her teeth and grabbed me again, both of her hands wrapping around my waist as she stared up at me, her lips parted, eyes wide. “You owe me, Hunter,” she snapped, but I reached down, put my hand square in the center of her chest, carefully avoiding both her throat and her breasts, and pushed. Hard. She stumbled backward, then squared her feet and glared at me with her mouth hanging open.
“I don’t owe you anything. Go sign the fucking book.”
“You know what you owe me.” She was still staring at me, teeth grinding, unable to believe I’d physically rejected her.
“You think I owe you my dick just because I make you horny?” It was low, but it was true; she recoiled from the words like I’d slapped her. “I don’t owe you fuck-all, Baby. I owe myself a night of rest, and it’s true that I thought I could help you—I was willing to kill for you, just an hour or two ago.” She’d wanted me to rip that piece of shit’s throat out, and I’d been half a second away from doing it. “But you want this? This appeals to you?” I waved a hand over my frame, knowing she understood what I was talking about—and it wasn’t me. It was the animal inside. “Then we don’t have anything else to talk about. Do we.” I could tell she was shocked. And that this might be the first time in her life a man surprised her, ever. “You want this shit? Then I don’t want you.”
“Liar,” she hissed, and that time it was my turn to be surprised.
“I’m not lying,” I growled. “Not any fucking good at it—”
“You want me,” she said, and I realized I’d hurt her pride. Fair’s fair; she’d certainly hurt mine.
“Not like this.”
“You’d take a shot at this if I was fucking dead,” she snapped at me, her eyes narrowing, her voice dripping with contempt. “And it would still be better than anything you could land normally, you big—”
“Stupid redneck, yeah, I know,” I snarled. Our faces were gravitating closer and closer again, drawn to each other like a pair of magnets. “You have a lot of trouble admitting how bad you want to fuck this big, stupid redneck, don’t you—”
“No one wants to fuck stupid rednecks—”
“Except you—"
She pushed me back against the wall, taking me by surprise. The force didn’t move me, but I took a step away—and that just drew her forward. And then I was against the wall again, spine flat against the damp stones, with no easy way to withdraw. Because she was still pursuing me… And then she stopped, and stared right into my eyes. “I hurt your feelings.”
“What?”
She shook her head at me and I watched as she bit her lip and swallowed, those beautiful eyes boring in to mine. “I hurt your feelings. You’re not stupid. Not at all. And you’re not a piece of shit—you wouldn’t hurt me, even when you knew I hated you. When you knew I could turn around at any minute and accuse you of something terrible, ruin your whole life, and everybody would believe me.” She bit her lip, and my insides twisted like something alive was in there, down in the dark. “And you’re right—I don’t like how much I… I respond to you.”
That’s fucking coy. I waited for her to move away, to step back from me. She didn’t. I started to slide past her and just couldn’t—I couldn’t bear to feel so fucking weak that I couldn’t just shove her back again, that I was forgiving her for thinking I was trash and making me feel like trash. I was a lot of things, a lot of them bad… I had kidnapped her, for fuck’s sake. But she wanted me, before—hadn’t she?
Jesus, she was right. She hurt my goddamn feelings.
“Move back,” I said, but my voice didn’t sound right.
“No,” she said, and I realized her breasts were touching my chest, her arms slipping under my shirt again… Her face tilted towards mine, long black hair tangled around that silken heart shaped doom.
“You’re manipulating me,” I growled, but it didn’t make her stop.
Baby knew what she was doing, and she didn’t give a damn.
“Touch me,” she whispered.
And I couldn’t have stopped myself if I tried.
Chapter Thirteen
Baby
He was right. He didn’t owe me sex; nobody owed anybody sex. That was kind of a fucked up thing to say.
But I didn’t care.
I needed an excuse.
I needed a reason to touch him, a reason to want to that I could live with. Because wanting someone who placed me in so much danger—took so much from me—made me sick to my stomach. Just looking into those eyes and wishing I could kiss him, while my whole body begged to feel those rough hands… But I was in a prison cell underground, debating my fate with psychopathic shape-shifters. Because of him.
And part of me just did not care.
So I said the same thing I had the first time: “touch me.”
He knew I meant it—meant it in a way that wasn’t just a demand for payment, the expectation that he would give me enough power to save myself from here on out. Not that he would let me; I still wasn’t sure, when it came down to it, that he would give me what I really wanted.
I wasn’t able to say that much out loud yet.
I’m a virgin, Hunter. And I want it to be you. I want your body in mine.
I’ve done a lot of things with guys, some of them I wished I hadn’t, some of them I did because of what it would get me and some of them just because I wanted to. I’m curious. I’m kind of aggressive. And I think men are trash, and if I can get an orgasm on top of a new purse then I’m down, okay? That might make me trash, too, but the first time someone takes something from you that wasn’t on the menu you kind of learn how it works. There are no nice guys. They’re all in it for what they can get; you should be too.
/> But Hunter… From the first minute I saw him, I felt like he was different.
No; that’s not right. It wasn’t the first minute I saw him. It was the first time he saw me.
Men take one look at me and we both know the deal. They like my tits, my legs, my lips; they don’t care about me. They won’t, either, not even if they hurt me and especially if I hurt them. Something happens—I can see it in their eyes. When I was younger it would sting, sometimes, but the older I got the more relaxed I was about the exchange: you get eye candy, maybe a little more, and I get what I want. What I want fluctuates a lot. A kiss from a really good looking guy is a perfectly reasonable thing to want once in a while, a moment when you can sigh and imagine for a split second that he’s not thinking about ruining your make-up with his dick. Men are the worst.
But Hunter… Hunter had taken one look at me up close and backed off; he hadn’t wanted to play. And then he’d helped me, and I knew for a fact he did it just because he was… Kind.
Which seems like such a stupid thing to say about Hunter Black. He’s huge, surly on the few occasions when he does deign to speak, and he didn’t get those scars from toasting marshmallows.
But that was the hard thing, the thing I couldn’t ignore about how he touched me and the way he acted. I didn’t hate him. Not really.
In a different world, different circumstances… Maybe he and I could have been something special to one another.
As things stood, though, we had to be something else. Something desperate and dark. Something dirty.
I was way past the point in my life when that bothered me.
I touched his muscles again—so hard, ridges and planes sculpted by years of hard labor and refined on playing fields. His skin was softer than it had any right to be, with the occasional scar disrupting the velvet feel of him. He shivered under my hand, and it made me want… More. Much more. When I tilted my face up and asked for it, his lips were waiting for me.
