Page 39 of Wolfkissed
No, I’m missing something. What is it…?
A thump against my door has me turning away from the stormy sky and my thoughts. Ice travels down my spine as I softly tread across the wooden floor.
“Who’s there?” I ask again. “Valen?”
A growl from the other side of the door has all the fine hairs on my arms standing up and my nipples pebbling. My heart starts pounding in earnest.
“Valen, are you all right?” I don’t know why, but suddenly I’m afraid for him. A bad feeling grips me, and I unlock the door with shaky hands, opening it a crack. “Valen!”
The picture that greets me is otherworldly. Illuminated by the flashes of lightning coming through the skylight, he stands there, all six feet and some of him, his hair plastered to his neck and cheeks, his eyes glowing. His hands are fisted at his sides, his posture slightly hunched over, and that wolf tail swishes behind him against powerful thighs.
Something is off. My heart in my throat, I open the door a bit more. He’s covered in a black substance, I realize, and the coppery tang of blood is suddenly so overpowering I retch.
He’s literally bathed in blood. It drips from the ends of his hair, from his fists, from his clothes.
Three bodies are sprawled at unnatural angles on the floor, blades strewn around them, so bloodied they are mere shadows.
“What… happened?” I choke out, although it’s pretty obvious. “Are you…?”
“Just doing my job,” he says, and then grins. He actually grins, his teeth too white and sharp against his blood-painted face. “So do I get a bone?”
He’s looking pretty much like a tomcat who just brought the dead mice to his master, only he looks definitely wolfish. The wolf who brought his mistress dead rabbits?
My mouth twitches, and then nausea grips me again. He killed three men. Three men carrying long, wicked blades.
Blades I have to assume were meant for me.
He takes a step back to prop his back against the wall, folding those powerful arms over his chest, dipping his chin and…
Good Gods, I’m staring. Even bathed in crimson, he strikes a chord through me, one that makes my blood sing.
In a sudden move, he pushes off the wall. I stand there, frozen, as he stalks up to me, grabs me, and spins me around, his chest pressed to my back.
Burying his face in my hair, he slides his bloodied hand up my neck, fingers wrapping around my throat.
“You…” He inhales. Groans. “Are you testing my self-control?”
He smells of blood and musk, pungent, beastly. His hand tightens, stopping my airflow. This is terrifying. He just slaughtered three men with his bare hands, the same hands holding me now immobile.
Yet, my insides tighten with a strange ache, a strange need. I’m still in his hold, my heart pounding, throbbing between my legs, the heat radiating from his tall body seeping into my back.
Just as suddenly as he came up to me, he pushes me away, and I turn to find him with his hand bowed, eyes glimmering like stars.
“This is fucking with my head,” he says in that low, growly voice. “I just killed for you. Your damn family really wants you dead, don’t they?”
That erases the strange need for him and sends me stumbling back, away from him and his hot touch. “How would you know it’s my family who sent these men?” I protest.
Even as my thoughts from moments earlier return and my mind screeches,See? See? Home isn’t safe for you anymore, if you haven’t noticed already.
“Wake up. This is real.” His voice hardens. “Who commands these men?”
My stepfather. He’s right. He’s absolutely right, and as I bolt for my room, slamming the door shut behind me, I know my time of grace is over.
Leaving now might be best, storm and all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ROSAMUND
