“It’s Lamé’s.” Her hand makes a motion toward where Lamé sits at a corner table like a spider in their web, wearing a self-satisfied smile. Behind the counter is Lamé’s sub-du-jour, Jonas, making coffee. I give him a nod, which he returns with a subtle wink.
“Lamé will get paid, too. I wouldn’t not pay someone because they got hurt on the job.”
“That’s not the point.” Her blush goes impossibly darker.
“What is the point?”
“I don’t want it.” She appears to realize how harsh she sounded and tempers her words. “I just wanted to help.”
“Understood.” I nod. “Thanks again.”
“I guess I’ll, um, head out.” With a lopsided smile, she steps towards me. I move to the side to let her pass, but she goes that way as well. I move right, then left again, each shift mirrored by her. This little shuffle’s another dance.
I tilt my head a couple degrees, my eyes tracking her movements. I don’t have to look down to see the quick rise and fall of her chest. I can feel it, just like I sense the vibration between us.
I swear if she were an animal, she’d be a gazelle or something, twitching with the awareness of prey the moment their senses detect a predator. My body gets bigger, hers goes completely still. These roles that feel ancient, carved in stone, forged from flesh and bone and blood.
For so long, I missed the thrill ofwanting. And now it’s all I’ve got.
The thrill of watching a woman squirm in bright daylight. A woman who wants to get caught, who smells like fear, which, in this case, is exactly like sex. Above all, though, I missed the rightness of this—desire andneedand the knowledge that I can have it and when I get it, it’ll be mine. A fight, but worth it.
The sex I’ve had these past few years felt flimsy. It was sex, yes, it was hunting, but nothing about it ever felt real. My partners and I were wraiths, not solid, flesh and blood beings. Not like this. Her.
I want her.
I shouldn’t, though I’m no longer clear on why.
I should get out of her way, but I can’t and it’s not just that my dick’s inexplicably hard, it’s…something else.
“What are we doing here, Liev?” Grace asks, her voice scratchy and low, the timbre so rich I can feel it in my balls.
There are many ways to interpret that question, but I know what she means. Why bother pretending otherwise? “I don’t fucking know.” It’s the truth. It’s all I’ve got.
She sighs. “I should go.” When I don’t reply, she gives me a brittle smile. “See you around, Overlord.”
“I prefer Liev.”
Someone comes in from outside and stops short. “Oh, excuse me. Do you think I could get inside and grab—” Grace takes the opportunity to scoot around me. “Oh, my God, you’re the Overlord, right?”
God, I hate that name. I hold back a sigh and force my expression into something approaching amicable. “So they tell me.” Grace is walking away. “Grace. Hold on.”
“Oh, wow. I’ve been wanting to thank you,” the newcomer says. “For donating. To the cancer fund.”
“Sure.” I smile and nod. “Grace!”
She waves without turning. “I’ll see you around, Overlord.”
“It’s Liev!” I yell at her departing back.
“Goodbye, Liev.”
The other person’s still talking. I do my best to engage with them, but all I can hear is that rough little voice as she walks away, leaving me raw and aching and wondering what the hell’s happened to my insides.
It’s not until she’s just edging out of view that I see the red mark at the juncture of her shoulder and her neck.
Myred mark.Mine.
The beast awakens inside me. It’s a pathetic, wounded creature, snapping to get out.
