“Extreme?” He laughs, but it’s sharp, with no humor in it. “You have no idea what I’ve been imagining. What I’ve wanted to do every time he put his hands on you.”
The tunnel feels smaller suddenly, the walls pressing in. Or maybe that’s just the way Logan’s presence fills the space, dark and consuming as he traces a finger down my throat, watching my pulse flutter.
“Then tell me,” I say, and his eyes flash, and for a second they look different. Darker. Hungrier.
He pauses, watching me, as if he’s trying to figure out if I can handle it.
I keep my gaze locked on his, refusing to back down. Because if I can handle training with him in the Scorched Circles, I can handle hearing whatever he wanted to do to Oliver.
“I pictured breaking every one of his fingers for touching you. Slowly. Methodically. Until he could never reach for you again.” His hand slides lower, spreading possessively across my collarbone. “When he was spinning you around the floor, I was calculating how many of his ribs I could drive my dagger through before anyone could stop me.”
My breath hitches, caught between desire and the dawning realization that he’s not speaking in metaphors.
“You’re trembling,” he whispers, his thumb stroking over the frantic pulse at my throat. “You’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.” My voice is steadier than I expect, given that he’s talking about violence like he’s savoring a fine wine.
“You should be.” He studies me, searching my face for any sign of deception. “Any sane person would run from someone who thinks the things I think, and who does the things I do.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve never been accused of being sane.” I reach up slowly, my fingers brushing against his jaw. The contact sends electricity dancing across my skin, tiny silver sparks jumping between us. “I trust you, Logan. I love you. Every single part of you. Even the parts that think in spilled blood and broken bones.”
He makes a sound that’s almost a sob, and when his lips finally crash into mine, there’s nothing gentle about it. This kiss is pure desperation, teeth scraping my lower lip as his hands grip my waist hard enough to bruise. He kisses like he’s trying to devour me, like he could consume me completely and it still wouldn’t be enough.
I respond instantly, arching into him as my fingers tangle in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him groan. The tunnel pulses with ancient magic, the stones warming as Logan’s hands find the hem of my dress, bunching the fabric as he drags it up my thighs.
“I need you right here, right now,” he growls, his forehead pressed to mine. “So that when we leave these passages, there’ll be some of me inside you every time he touches you.”
Electricity sparks beneath my skin, silver currents racing along my nerves as I rock my hips against him. “Yes,” I breathe, the word barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
His hands slide under my dress and up my thighs, the heat of his palms scorching against my skin. When he reaches the edge of my underwear, he wraps his fingers around the top of it, and then there’s heat, and the unmistakable scent of singed fabric as he gives the burned material one sharp tug and lets the remains fall to the floor.
“Did you just—” I start to protest the destroyed underwear, but his fingers find the perfect spot between my thighs, setting a rhythm that’s calculated to drive me insane. Fast enough to build pleasure, but slow enough to keep me on edge. I’m beyondwords, beyond thought, reduced to pure sensation as electricity builds beneath my skin, my body tightening around his fingers as he makes each smooth, devastating stroke.
“Not yet.” He slows just as I’m about to tumble over the edge. “Look at me first.”
I force my eyes open to find him watching me with an intensity that steals my breath away, his eyes dark, his pupils blown wide. Seemingly satisfied, he increases the pressure, the pace, and I’m climbing higher, tighter, my body coiling like a spring about to?—
A scream echoes through the tunnels, sharp and desperate.
But it’s not one of pleasure. It’s not from me.
Logan freezes, his hand still against me, his fingers buried deep. Every muscle in his body goes rigid, on high alert.
The voice carries from somewhere deep in the passages. “I won’t let you get to her!” he says, and while it’s muffled by distance and stone, it’s unmistakably familiar. “You can recruit whoever you want to be Revenants, but not her! Not Evie!”
My blood turns to ice. Because I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
It’s Oliver’s.
JADE
“Oliver—”
Logan’s hand clamps over my mouth, his fingers no longer inside me, his entire demeanor shifting from passionate to predatory in an instant.
“Get back to the ball,” he commands, already stepping away from me. “Now.”
“Like hell.” I yank his hand away from my mouth, my body trembling from the whiplash of going from intense pleasure to sudden terror in seconds. “That’s Oliver in there, and he’s talking about… what are Revenants? Why does someone want to recruit Evie?”
