his back on her before, but only because he’d thought it was the best way to keep her safe.
Only...the danger had found her anyway, hadn’t it? Which meant that for all his running, he was still stuck in the same destructive loop, and there didn’t seem to be any way out of it. Not until Aedan no longer hung over his life like a malevolent shadow, ready to wreak pain, terror and death on anything that he wanted for himself.
The minutes moved by in a slow crawl, the air hot and sticky with humidity, though he barely noticed, his attention completely fixated on Sayre as the witch went about her daily routine. Every now and again, he would pick up the muted sounds of her voice as she talked to herself, the low words edged with anger and frustration. He’d definitely pissed her off by coming there, which meant that she was still angry about the way he’d left and hadn’t gotten over it. That she hadn’t forgotten him. And as wrong as it was, he liked that she’d been thinking about him all these years. That he’d made a big enough impact on her life to be remembered.
You’re her life mate, dimwit, his wolf grunted. Not like she can just forget that little tidbit.
“Piss off,” he muttered, knowing damn well that the beast was right.
Are we going to just stand out here all day? the animal persisted. Because we belong over there with her. We belong inside her.
He choked back a curse, the need searing through his veins making him sweat even more than the heat. He’d never so much as kissed Sayre, and yet, he strongly suspected that sex with her would be unlike anything he’d ever known. Just the fantasy of it overshadowed every woman he’d ever been with, and there’d been so many. Too many. Faces and bodies and names that he wouldn’t have been able to recall to save his life—which only made him that much more of a bastard.
The wind finally picked up, but he was far enough away that he didn’t need to worry she would scent him on the air. Though Lycan blood pumped through her veins, she was unable to take the shape of a wolf, which meant she didn’t have the same heightened abilities as the rest of them. Instead, the women in her bloodline were known as witches, or healers. They were each powerful in their own right, but he’d never felt the charge of energy surrounding a Lycan-born witch like he had with Sayre. She was truly in a class of her own, and he couldn’t help but wonder how those powers would mature as she grew older.
He seriously doubted that she needed the gun. Though he’d once been able to force his way through her power, when they’d been in the heat of battle and he’d been hell-bent on protecting her, she was stronger now. If she’d wanted, he was sure she could have blasted him with enough energy to put him out of commission for the rest of the day—and Christ, that was sexy. Everything about the woman was...intoxicating. He’d always thought she was beautiful in an ethereal, fey kind of way, and had been intensely attracted to her. But now...Jesus. There honestly weren’t words to describe the way she affected him. Her curly hair had to be a good seven inches longer, reaching the middle of her back, the color a deeper red that was shot through with streaks of gold, no doubt from all the time she spent outdoors. Her once thin, coltish body was now deliciously curved, her breasts and ass a little fuller, giving her slender figure a more lush, womanly look. He couldn’t help but imagine what this new shape of hers would feel like spread out beneath him, all that sweet, creamy flesh his for the taking.
But his attraction to Sayre Murphy had always been about more than her looks, and that hadn’t changed. If anything, the force of her will held an even deeper draw for him now, her fiery spirit when combined with her tender nature creating an alluring package that would entice any man, but especially the one chosen by fate as her perfect match. Everything about her was designed to please him, and a gruff, troubled burst of laughter softly fell from his lips as he scrubbed a hand over his face, knowing he was in some seriously deep shit. Even if she weren’t the sexiest thing he’d ever set eyes on, he’d have wanted her. The fact that her innate sensuality was even more prevalent now, her mouth and scent and the husky sound of her voice calling to him on every primitive level, well...that was just overkill. A play of the universe to make the coming days as excruciatingly painful as possible. Hell, at this rate, he was pretty sure he’d feel like he’d gone ten rounds in a medieval torture chamber by the time this nightmare was over. And he’d no doubt bear the scars to prove it, on his skin as well as his blackened heart.
Keep her alive and keep my hands to myself. That needed to be his new mantra—but the second part wouldn’t be easy. When she stood up after tending another colorful flower bed and lifted her arms over her head to stretch her back, the little tank top she wore rising up to reveal her sexy tummy and a tiny, dark tattoo that was scrolled around her navel, he realized it would be damn near impossible.
Sweet little Sayre had a tattoo?
Holy...shit. He was fairly certain that his jaw had just dropped down to somewhere around his ankles, his cock so hard he probably wasn’t going to be able to walk straight. He didn’t know what the intricate symbols of the tattoo meant, but he’d have sold his damn soul in that moment for the chance to drop down on his knees in front of her and press his open mouth to that provocative little piece of artwork. And he sure as hell wouldn’t stop there. Trailing his tongue down the center of her body, he would keep going until he was breathing in the sweet, humid scent of her where it would be the richest. Like hot, wild honey on his tongue, melting down his throat, making him hunger in a way he didn’t think any human male could ever completely experience. A hunger that went deeper than his flesh—that bled down into his veins and his bones and pumped through the very heart of him.
A drop of sweat slid down the searing heat of his temple, stinging the corner of his eye, and he shook himself out of his thoughts, painfully aware that they weren’t leading to any place he’d be able to go. And damned if it weren’t enough to make him want to bawl like a friggin’ baby. Or howl at the rising moon.
When she reached for something in the back pocket of those short-as-hell shorts and started to walk around the back of the cabin, Cian pushed off from the tree he’d been leaning against, ready to change his position so that she wasn’t out of his sight. But he froze when his cell phone suddenly vibrated in the front pocket of his jeans, his brows lifting with surprise. He was unused to anyone trying to contact him, since the number was one he’d gotten after he’d left five years ago, and there were only a few informants he’d employed over that time who he’d given it to. They rarely contacted him, and how was he even getting reception out here?
This is so ridiculous. I know you’re out there. Leave. Now. Before I go all West Virginia on your ass.
The text was from Sayre?
How the hell did you get my number?
I asked Mic for it.
Ah, that’s right. He’d texted Brody that morning, so his number was in the Runner’s phone. All Mic had to do was—
Enough stalling, his beast snapped, cutting him off. Text her back!
How did you know I’m out here?
That’s not the issue, Cian. Leave. Like I told you before, I don’t want you here.
He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering just how strong her powers had gotten over the last five years. Christ, she couldn’t read his mind, could she? No, if she could, then she’d know about the danger from Aedan, which meant she’d understand how serious he was about taking her back to the Alley, where the others could help him protect her.
Knowing he just needed to get it over and done with, like ripping off a bloody bandage, his fingers flew across the keypad as he typed in his response.
