Her body reacted. Not fear. Or notjustfear. Something else entirely. Heat pooling low in her belly, pulse jumping, skin flushing despite the cold. Her nipples tightened against the thick fabric of her shirt, and she could feel herself getting wet… which was wrong, on so many levels.
What the hell is happening to me?
She tried to push him away. Her hands landed on his chest—solid muscle, burning hot through whatever covered him—but he didn’t budge. Didn’t even seem to notice.
Another rumble. His nose traced up the line of her neck, behind her ear. His warm tongue dragged along her jaw, the heat of it searing against her chilled skin like a brand.
A whimper escaped her. Mortifying. Terrifying. She was terrified and turned on in equal measure, and her brain was screaming at her body to get its shit together.
“Please,” she managed. Not sure what she was begging for.
He pulled back slightly, just enough for those glowing red eyes to meet hers. For one suspended moment, they stared at each other. His pupils were blown wide. Those horn-things—antennae, she could see now—twitched on his head, perking up. He looked almost as wrecked as she felt. Almost.
His massive hand moved up, fingers skimming her ribs. Then he jerked back as if she’d shocked him. He took a deep, shuddering breath and then his eyes rolled back.
And he collapsed.
Delaney barely caught him—or tried to, anyway. He was heavy, and they both went down in a tangle of limbs and wings. She landed hard on her ass, his weight pinning her, face buried against her shoulder.
“What… what the fuck.”
She shoved him. Got nowhere. Tried again, slowly wiggling out from under him inch by agonizing inch until she finally extracted herself. He lay sprawled on the barn floor. Unconscious. Still breathing, chest rising, falling. Those wings spread around him like a dark halo.
Delaney scrambled backward until her back hit the workbench. It felt like her heart was trying to escape. Her hands shook. Her neck felt wet where he’d rubbed his face all over her like some kind of sexed-up wet dream.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how that felt.
She needed to tie him up. Before he woke up and did whatever that was again. Or worse.
“Okay.” She pressed her palms to her thighs. “Okay. Get it together, Del.”
She could do this. She grabbed him under the arms and pulled. Her back screamed. Her slippers were not providing much in the way of traction. He weighed a ton, and maneuvering a dude with giant wings wasn’t making it any easier. She gritted her teeth and dragged him inch by agonizing inch until his back hit the support beam.
He was sitting up, at least. Good enough for what came next.
Rope. She needed rope. The workbench. She grabbed it, wrapped it around his chest, looped it around the beam. Tied it tight. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She tried not to tie it tight enough to hurt, but then again he had tried to... well, whatever it was he had tried to do.
She sat back on her heels, breathing hard. It was too dark. She needed to see what she was dealing with.
She reached up and flicked the switch on the support beam. The overhead bulb buzzed to life, bathing him in dusty yellow light. Delaney blinked. Then blinked again. What she was seeing didn’t make sense.
He wasn’t a monster. Well, obviously he wasn’t human, but he was gorgeous. Sharp cheekbones, white hair spilling over his forehead, and plump, kissable lips that honestly made her a little jealous. Sure, his features were a bit too angular, but the end result was…
No, we are not going to sexualize a weird Mothman that our brain conjured up in some kind of mental breakdown.
She abruptly stood and headed for the door. Stopped. Looked back with a begrudging sigh.
He was going to freeze out here. The temperature was already dropping, her breath visible in the air. He wasn’t dressed for this weather, wearing some kind of torn jumpsuit that had seen better days. Since when did a Mothman wear clothes, anyway?
“This is stupid,” she told the quiet barn. “I have officially lost it.”
But she went back to the house anyway, grabbed the space heater from the living room—the one that had been valiantly keeping her warm—and dragged it back to the barn. She plugged it in near him. Not close enough to burn. Just close enough that he wouldn’t freeze to death before morning.
“There.” She crossed her arms, looking down at his unconscious form. “Don’t die. I might try to sell you to the government, and they’d probably pay more if you were alive.”
He didn’t answer.
Her gaze lingered on him as she stood at the door. His wings. His face. The way his chest rose and fell. The way her body still felt hot and strange.
