Page 13 of Wolf Blood

My hunger overwhelmed everything else.

Rhone took one step into the shower, waiting for me to change my mind.

I didn't.

He took another step.

My shorts were still around my thighs, so I pushed them the rest of the way down for him. When I did, I noticed a thick gold chain that hung between my small breasts. They'd been softer, before. Like the rest of me.

I'd never wanted to be the sharp, vicious creature I'd become.

Something was hooked securely on a loop at the end of the chain. Something white and sharp, and about an inch and a half long. Two of them.

They almost looked like fangs.

"Are those..."

"Velour's fangs," the Beta gritted out. "I finally found the bastard. Him and his dad were hiding out in another city together."

Rhone had killed them, apparently.

I didn't have to school my expression. The crack of my spine,twice, was enough to make me glad Velour and his cruel father couldn't do that to anyone else.

I'd trusted the younger vampire with my body when I was fragile and mortal and human, and he'd killed me for it.

"He's dead?" I asked.

"I snapped his neck myself."

A soft breath escaped me, and the words came out too quickly to stop them. "Did you strip him first? I was naked when he snapped mine."

Rhone’s eyes darkened. "No. I didn’t know. I would’ve."

At least he was dead.

I almost felt relief, but it was stifled by the unending noise of my hunger.

"Thanks," I said.

I wasn't under any sort of impression that Rhone had hunted the vampire for me. A vampire who lacked the control not to turn someone would never be allowed to live. Not by vampires, humans, or werewolves. It was possibly the only thing they all agreed on.

"Wear the fangs. It'll help," Rhone said.

The long, thick gold chain was nothing that would've ever belonged anywhere near my wardrobe before. My skin had the bluest of blue undertones. Gold looked horrible against it.

Good thing I no longer tried to look nice.

Rhone's body, hair, and clothes were drenched in seconds as he kneeled in front of me in the shower.

It took a significant amount of effort to force myself not to notice or react to the way his big, rough hands felt against my center, using soap to wash Ryker's release off my skin. After he rinsed his hand, his fingers brushed my opening, his eyes on me as he gave me a moment to tell him no.

I didn't.

I wanted to see how far he'd go, and I wanted to feel his hands on me.

Inme.

Every ounce of control I had went into stopping myself from reacting to the feel of his fingers inside my body, attempting to clean out slickness that wasn't my own.