No it’s fucking not—
The world is blurring again, flying past the edges of my vision.
My hand wraps around the doorknob.
The doorknob at the entrance of my home.
I throw a look over my shoulder, up the stairs, toward the study two floors above.
Seconds.
I cleared two floors in seconds to get to her.
The term “death wish” is starting to take on a whole new meaning.
Nails drag down the surface of my door. Slow. Seductive. As entrancing as her voice when she clearly leans in to whisper against the dark wood, “You know you want to.”
Of course I do! This is bullshit.
I fling the door open with zero thought—it slams into the wall, cracking right down the middle, and even with the impact echoing in my foyer, she’s the only thing I can focus on.
My vision blurs at the sight of her. Every sound fades into the background. The demanding pulse of my heart takes command, a tribal drumbeat of need and insanity.
She looks even more delicious than I remember.
Considering I’ve spent a decade of my life unwillingly fantasizing about her, that’s saying something.
She stands there, hands casually on her hips.
While I play the fool that’s eye-fucking her into oblivion.
Black seems to be her color of choice—a blatant statement, I’m sure—and I can’t even deny how sexy it looks against her tanned skin.
The coat from last time is gone, a dress in its place, the skirt split up the thighs, and leaving her tattooed legs exposed.
I didn’t notice those designs during our last encounter due to her thigh-highs, but holy shit they’re sexy.
Everything about her is.
Did that witch that I sold my soul to pick me randomly? Or was I a pre-selected target? One analyzed, dissected. Chosen for the weaknesses in my soul.
The more I study this witch, the more I’m convinced it was no accident.
They knew exactly which member of their coven would deconstruct my already broken psyche.
“Invite me in, Silas,” she enunciates slowly, as if speaking to an idiot.
The way I’m fixated on the tattoos decorating her thighs and the image of me licking each one before diving between her legs, I must be one.
This creature is here to kill me.
All I want to do is drag her in here and fuck her on my stairs.
Clenching my fists, I glower at her.
Her lips part in a smile, the first I’m seeing it, and she might as well have drenched me in her fire.
I’m fucking done for.
Grinding my teeth, I glance at her booted feet, seeing small clouds of ash dispersing in the wind. Dark trails that swirl from my porch into the air, disappearing as they’re whisked away.
Is that . . . she killed her kind for me? Don’t read too much into it, fool. They betrayed her. And something tells me no one gets away with betraying her. “I’m immune to your powers, witch.” If past experience still holds true, her fire can’t harm me. The female they picked to murder me is powerless against me.
It’s too odd.
Her smile turns sardonic and her eyes flicker down my form. “Uh-huh. Not all of them, wolf.” That gaze ghosts over my crotch.
My overreacting crotch, damn it. I heard her voice and just like that I was hard as fuck.
Another problem of this perverse change? My testosterone must be as intensified as the rest of me. On a level I doubt could be analyzed by human science. I’m more aggressive than I’ve ever been.
Hungrier.
Hornier.
And she fucking knows it.
“Just let me in. I’m not here to kill you. Yet.”
“How comforting, chérie,” I mumble. Fists still clenched at my sides, I turn and jerk my head toward the interior of my home.
She sucks her teeth in an utterly teasing way, clearly enjoying herself as she plays with me, and enters my sacred space with a swirl of her black skirt.
Once in the foyer, she throws her head back with an exaggerated arch. Spinning on one foot, she takes it all in, whistling low. “So this is it. What you sold your soul for.”
There it is again. That condescending tone. The distaste in her expression, even as she takes in the gold light fixture hanging above her head. Perfectly painted navy-blue walls seem to do nothing for her.
Beneath her feet, the expensive thick, white floorboards go unnoticed.
The couch visible to the left, past the arched entryway to the living room, is royal blue velvet. Small banana trees sit in white pots on either side of the massive fireplace.
To our right, the kitchen lies, but she shows no interest in that, either.
I picked the most expensive interior designer I could find and stood by as we picked every aspect of this house together. It meant something to me. Still does. An achievement I thought I’d earned all on my own.
What a fucking fool.
The look on her face makes me wonder just what her home looks like. Is it some grand type of coven? Her gothic ensemble tells me it is. Her clothing is definitely made of expensive fabric, the rings on her fingers are pure gold.
Everything about this witch screams money yet there she stands, looking down her nose at me. “Did you come here just to judge me?” I growl.
Rolling her eyes at me, she turns and begins taking the stairs slowly. Her ringed fingers graze the railing in a way that makes my entire body clench.
Jesus, it’s really her. She’s in my home.
My mind turns at that, reality threatening to disappear under a wave of disbelieving madness.
Pausing at the top of the stairs on the second-floor landing, she looks over her shoulder at me. The move sends the waves of her hair swinging and bares another tattoo in the middle of her back—a symbol I saw in one of the books I stole.
It’s a circle with two half-moons on each side.
The triple goddess symbol.
“Are you coming, LeBlanc? I figured we’d adjourn to your hiding place to discuss our next step.”
“Our next step? Aren’t you just here to kill me?”
“Eventually,” she hums, light eyes glowing in the shadows, her entire body highlighted by the expensive decor surrounding her. “But, first, I’m going to use you against them. After that you can die.”
As if I have no say in the matter, she turns and continues on her way to my study on the third floor, bearing regal.
Someone used to being in command.
And I, god damn fucking moron that I am, begin to follow her.
She’s been my punishment all these years.
Soon she’ll be my death.
But for now she’s also my only means of fighting back against the ones that did this to me—her people. Even if she kills me right after it’s over, the thought of helping her bring those faceless assholes down sounds real damn good about now.
I’m fixin’ to sink my new teeth into someone who actually deserves it.
I clear the first set of stairs before she even has a chance to get halfway up to the third floor. “Why spare me in the name of your vengeance?”
The ends of her long hair brush the top of her ass softly; her fingers imitate the silky caress as they slide over the wall.
She touches my home like she’s trying to learn something from it.
My entire body breaks out in goosebumps, aching to trade places.
“Why?” I demand a second time.
“You think I’d give them your death, that influx of power? No, werewolf. They’ll die first”—she pauses at the entry to my study and tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling—“and then you can die. I’ll be the only one left, the only one that can feed on your soul.”