brush his. Horror congealed in her gut. She was close
enough to trail her tongue along his lips, his jaw. The
artery pulsing at his throat. How many nights had she
dreamed of this?
As many as she’d dreamed of killing him.
He gave a short, huffing exhalation and drew back,
the cool air of the church filling the space between
them. She was breathing too fast, her heart pounding,
and she could sense the thrum of his blood.
Her mouth grew dry and she ached to pull her blade,
to slit his vein, to seal her mouth to that luscious
fountain as his blood spurted. The song of his solidly
beating pulse combined with the lure of the power he
harbored; it was potent and tempting, like hundredyear-old brandy sliding down her throat.
A taste. Just one taste.
Crossing her arms over her abdomen, she tried to
master the wild cadence of her heart.
Slitting a soul reaper’s throat and drinking from him
wassonot a plan.
Suddenly, something changed. Shifted. His attention left her and settled on the door at the far end of the
church.
The air stirred, the molecules vibrating at an altered
rate. She could feel it. Someone coming.
His eyes narrowed, his expression changing, hardening, telling her that he felt it, too. She slammed the lid
on the swirling eddy of emotion that clawed at her.
Looked like for the moment she had bigger problems
EVE SILVER
183
than the bizarre repulsion-attraction she felt for Dagan
Krayl.
