We reached the outcropping of rocks where I would deposit her. I was to let her have a sixty-second head start, no more, no less. The wind off the valley hit us, hot and grainy, as I set her down on the bald cap of a boulder and let my hands linger long enough to leave fingerprints.
She pulled free, steadying herself on a ledge, and looked over her shoulder at me—eyes huge, mouth a dark slash in the late sun. "You going to tell me the rules again?" she asked, half-joking.
I just smiled, teeth bright, and shrugged. "You know them. You run. I hunt. If you make it to the deck before I catch you, you win. If I catch you…" I let the silence hang, let her imagine it.
Her nostrils flared, and I could smell the spike of her adrenaline, bitter and electric. She wiped a sweaty palm on her shorts, then squared her shoulders toward the house far below—tiny as a Monopoly piece at the edge of the first switchback.
"And you really won't use tricks? No demon magic, no?—"
"I told you. No tricks. Just legs and willpower." I locked my gaze on her. "But do you trust a demon to keep up his end of the bargain?"
She didn’t wait for a second warning. She spun on her heel and dove off the boulder, sprinting down the scree with a reckless speed that made my own heart hammer. I watched, letting the clock tick, counting each second like a drumbeat against my ribs.
I wanted her to run. I wanted to see how far she’d go before she realized I was already at her heels. And in that minute, all I could think about was the flash in her eyes when Clem laid hands on her, the way my own hands had closed around his neck without a thought. I could have snapped Clem like a chicken bone, shredded him to pulp in front of her, and the only reason I didn’t was because I didn’t want to see that flicker of fear in Annie’s face. Not even for a second. But the urge was there—instant, pure, and so right it felt like a law of physics.
Maybe I was more monster than man after all. Maybe the mayor had good reason to keep us on leashes. Maybe I’d never learn how to turn that part of me off.
Or maybe Annie already knew. Maybe she wanted it, the same way I wanted her: total, animal, unyielding. The thought made a bright hunger explode in the back of my throat, not for food or air but for the chase itself, the knowing that I could have her, that I was allowed.
At forty-two seconds, I caught a flash of her hair in the sagebrush, just before she vanished behind a thicket of mesquite. At forty-three, the breeze shifted, and I could smell her sweat and the raw, salt-sweet tang of her skin, a trail that read like a love letter written directly to my cells.
Sixty seconds. I launched off the rock, wings snapping full, and the updraft nearly wrenched me backwards—I caught myself, caught the wind, and rode it, using every muscle in my back to push forward, toward the blur of motion that was Annie hurtling through the desert.
She’d chosen the narrowest path, all scree and switchbacks, a descent that would have shattered a human ankle if taken at this speed. She was clever, using the landscape to her advantage, knowing I couldn’t use my wings to just drop straight down without risking a crash. But she’d underestimated the way my body remembered this valley—the curve of the ravines, thecrumbling seams of old ore paths, the scabbed-over wounds of a hundred abandoned mining trails. I mapped her route in my head as I dove, using the air to slingshot from ledge to ledge, always keeping her in my peripheral vision.
She crossed the first flat with a burst of speed that made me grin—a straight shot of pure animal will, legs pumping, arms driving her forward like she was running for her life. I let myself savor the spectacle—the wildness, the refusal to play prey—and followed, every nerve ending tuned to the frequency of her.
Halfway down the switchback, I caught the blur of her hair again, a ragged comet of color against the silver scrub. She’d cut off the trail and was booking it across a shale field, loose stones skittering underfoot. I landed on a ledge above, crouched low, and waited to see if she’d look back. She didn’t. She just kept moving, head down, lungs heaving. The sight stoked something in me that was more than hunger—it was awe. I could have glided in, closed my claws around her and pinned her to the sand, but the way she ran—every stride a fuck-you to the idea of being claimed—made the old, cinder-black part of me want to let her run, let her believe she might win, just for the taste of her hope when I finally took her down. I circled overhead, wings stretched to catch the dying thermals, my shadow rippling over the ridges in long, slow sweeps. She was fast. Not trained, not graceful—but fast. I waited, crouched on the rock, every nerve screaming, every inch of me tuned to the flick and beat of her pulse.
Then I dropped.
Wind hammered my face, the taste of her in it—sweat, the ghost of her perfume from the night before. Every sense sharpened. I banked hard, using my wings to ride the wind shear above the ravine, then folded them and dove straight down the shale, clawed feet skidding, hands digging for hold. I ate upthe distance between us in seconds. She must’ve heard me—a human would’ve, anyone would’ve—but she didn’t break stride.
I was on her before she hit the creekbed, a full-body collision that snatched the breath from both of us. She spun to the side, off-balance, but I caught her mid-scramble, palms bracketing her ribs as I pinned her to the packed dust. The scree bit into my knees, Annie cursing and panting. I hoisted her off her feet and spun her, slamming her chest-down into the scrubby dust.
The pebbles bit into her knees, and her palms splayed for balance, but Annie never begged—I loved her for that. She bucked to throw me, but I pinned her flat, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, the other raking down her spine. Her shirt tore with the barest effort, my claws slicing it open from neck to hem. The fabric fluttered away; her back arched, pale and ridged with muscle, and every inch of her screamed to be marked.
I braced her hips in my hands and yanked her shorts and underwear down in one motion. The sound—cotton surrendering to force—was obscene, and I knew she heard it, knew she felt the air against her skin, the threat of exposure. I could smell her: sweat and the spike of terror and the thick, sweet undercurrent of arousal. She was even before I’d touched her.
She tried to twist around, to snarl something back at me, but I pressed her head gently into the crook of her elbow, careful not to slice her with the claws. I let my weight rest against her, pinning her, and ran my tongue up the length of her spine, slow and deliberate, tasting the grit and salt. She shuddered—whether from fear or anticipation, it made no difference.
"Sam—" she gasped, voice muffled by the crook of her arm, but there was anger beneath the desire. "You used your wings." Her elbow jabbed backward, catching my ribs. "That wasn't the deal.”
I let her have a single breath of warning before I spread her thighs. Burying my face between her legs, my forked tongue forced her folds apart, lapping at her clit and then slipping lower. I savored the taste of her—raw and alive—as she bucked and sobbed into the dirt. Her scent, rich with arousal, filled my nostrils, spurring me on.
She writhed beneath me, hips jerking between fight and surrender as I licked her cunt, relentlessly teasing her swollen bud. Annie's nails raked the ground in a primal rhythm that matched her erratic breathing. She bucked her hips against my face, a wordless plea for more.
My tongue skillfully split and coaxed her open, thrusting in and out of her slick heat until she shuddered under the weight of impending orgasm. I sensed the moment before it hit, feeling the pulse in her thighs and the tension in her abdomen. Her orgasm ripped through her, unguarded and beautifully messy as she cried out, trying to muffle the sound with her fist.
I didn't wait for the last tremors to subside before lining up my hard cock with her entrance. She spasmed around me as I entered her, tight heat gripping me like a vise. I slammed her back down onto the dirt-packed ground, pinning her pelvis down with my own. Burying myself to the hilt, I felt every ripple of her contractions around my shaft.
"Say it," I growled in her ear, voice rough with lust. "Say who owns you."
She twisted her head to look at me, hair plastered to her sweat-soaked face. A defiant smile played on her lips as she hissed, "Fuck you."
I grinned wolfishly and surged my cock all the way inside her wet cunt. I wasn’t gentle; I could feel the stretch, the way her cunt resisted and then yielded, the friction a perfect, desperate ache. She screamed, but didn’t tell me to stop. I set a rhythm, fucking her so hard that the slap of skin of my balls againsther echoed off the rocks, every thrust a statement, a claim, a signature in the wet heat of her. I gripped her ass with both hands, claws dimpling the skin, and pulled her onto me, forcing her to take every inch.
"Mine," I growled, and the word rattled out of me with a hunger I'd never felt before. "All of you, Annie. Mine."
