Wearing only her nightclothes, she left the room and
walked the quiet halls toward the Wreck Room she’d learned of, where the demons
worked out.
Light bled through the cracks in the door as she
pushed it open, but Calla halted as she stepped inside.
Logan stood before a sparring dummy—punching,
kicking, until it knocked over.
He picked his silent opponent up off the floor and
went at it again, grunting with each powerful punch that had the thing
shimmying like a dashboard hula girl.
Sweat glistened across his skin as his muscles
flexed with each movement—every hit executed flawlessly. A black ball cap,
turned backward, hid his short-cropped hair, above the black wife beater and
warm up pants he wore.
Consumed by the contraction of his muscles and the
precision of every hit, Calla’s fascination stole away her earlier anger.
The guy had a way of making a girl forget how much
of an asshole he could be—or anything else for that matter.
What the hell had she gone there
for?
As if he’d heard her thoughts, he stopped abruptly,
mid-swing, and turned around.
Those brown eyes narrowed on her and his lip curled.
“What are you doing here?” He faced-off with the dummy again. “Leave.”
Discomfort flooded her insides, turning her muscles
stiff “I … I was just …” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m
sorry.”
He accosted her faster than she could blink.
She backed herself all the way up to the wall. Her
heart thrummed, pulse racing, as he boxed her in with his arms.
Chest heaving, his eyes radiated fury as they
flickered red, emitting waves of authority that begged for her to look away.
“Sorry for what, exactly? For getting
me stabbed? Having my brother enslaved by a fucking succubus? Or do you mean
you’re sorry for getting my other brother kidnapped by a goddamn psychopathic
demon hunter?”
Tingles danced along the rims of her eyes and for
all the effort of holding them back, tears spilled onto her cheek. Damn him.
Logan smirked and shook his head.
God, she wanted to claw his eyes out for it, as her
sadness quickly turned into something primal, lodging deep within her gut, that
couldn’t’ve given a damn that the male boasted three times her strength.
“You’re a bastard, you know that?”
His jaw clenched. “What did you just say?”
“I’ve met a lot of repulsive creatures in the last
few years, but you’re by far the worst of them all.” She swiped at her nose.
“You hate me. I get it. So why don’t you cut the crap? You want me to leave?
Fine. Happy to.”
She pushed herself off the wall but was thrown back
against it, the collision knocking a small bit of wind out of her lungs and
forcing a cough.
Like missiles warning fire, Logan’s massive arms
replanted either side of her head, his face so close his breath hit her. Red
flickered in his eyes. “You’re right. I’m the worst.” He inhaled a deep breath
through his nose and spoke on the exhale. “Do you know what humans are to a
Wrath? Blood in the water. Like sharks, we wait in hiding for that one moment
when no one’s around. You’re all alone. Vulnerable.” His pelvic bone thrust
against her. “A ripe fruit. Ready to be eaten.”
A cinnamon scent drifted past her, and weakness in
her knees beckoned her to collapse. Her sex ached for him to grind against her
again. She licked her lips. Touch me,
she wanted to say to him, as if one single caress of his finger across her skin
would take away the overwhelming need to be screwed right where she stood.
For some reason, she suddenly didn’t care who’d
stroll in and see them.
The more the merrier.
His eyes met hers again, and as if lust took
physical form, his lids seemed heavier, his lips so kissable they taunted the
distance between them. “You’ll fall prey to my pheromones.”
That voice, so deep and powerful, tickled her
stomach and she wanted to laugh at the thrill washing through her insides.
Fangs protruded from his lip and Calla wondered what
it’d be like to feel them at her throat. “See, I don’t even have to try to make you want me. You’d let me
fuck you right here against the wall if I wanted.”
Fuck. The word echoed in her head, and
her body broke out in sweat. She bit her lip as visions of the raunchiest
sexual experience she’d ever witnessed passed through her mind.
Every one of them starring Logan.
She’d have taken him any way he wanted: in her
mouth, from behind, straddling a frickin’ exercise bike if that’s what he
liked.
What was happening to her?
Such an odd feeling—her fears turning into
enthrallment. The more he talked, the more she wanted him.
Her thighs rubbed together, her mouth parted. She’d
never had a man inside her, yet she couldn’t wait another second to know the
feeling.
Her focus shifted to the long veins popping out of
his solid arms. So strong.
Nipples straining against the thin cotton T-shirt
she wore, Calla glanced to the side to see his hands balled into fists against
the wall.
Her tongue twitched with a sudden thirst for the
sweat beaded across his chest and neck. Heat spread through her body, and,
breaths heavy, she arched herself toward him like an offering.
As wetness in her panties brought her to the distant
realization that the male commanded her desires, she squeezed her knees
together tight in an effort to ease the desperation that had her hands fisted and
anxious to touch where she wished he would.
“I’d pluck that fruit and devour it in front of you,
princess.”
God, stop talking!
“You want me to, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she breathed, his words only exacerbating the
ache.
Imagining him on his knees in front of her had her
sliding to keep steady against the wall. On some kind of auto-command, she
reached up to him, her fingertips drifting across the crook of his neck and
shoulder.
He jolted back from her.
The haze that’d clouded her vanished, and she
snapped her hand back. What am I doing?
His eyes seemed to hold the same question. Gone was
the anger she’d seen just moments before, replaced by a frown of confusion.
She lifted her hand again. “I didn’t—”
“Don’t fucking touch me!” He backed away from her,
his expression almost shocked or ... horrified? “Stay the fuck away from me.”
His hand held the place where her fingers had touched him, as if it’d wounded
him.
Calla didn’t wait for him to say another word.
She kicked away from the wall and burst through the
double doors.
Keri Lake’s Social Media Links:
Keri Lake Bio:
Keri Lake is a married mother of two living
in Michigan. She writes paranormal romance, urban fantasy and loves a
good, tragic love story. Though novels tend to be her focus, she also
writes short stories and flash fiction whenever distraction manages to suck her
in to the Land of Shiny Things.
When she isn’t toiling away on plots and
protagonists, she enjoys reading, music and travel. If she could create
mystical powers for herself, she’d have the ability to flash to anywhere in the
world. And if she could flash to anywhere in the world at this very
moment, she’d be staring at the ocean from her adirondack chair on the shores
of North Carolina.
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