Lucian is distracted.
Santiago is occupied.
And I am hungry.
I take off, running fast across the street, the delight of speed whipping through me as I streak like lightning. Despite the tightness of my dress, I still plunge into the darkness, following my prey into the quiet park. I track him past swaying trees and dense bushes, past the tiny lights illuminating the running paths.
Voices whisper, rise, some angry, others soft. I can pinpoint them, all over the vast expanse of the park, the thunder still rolling overhead, but that scent of blood drives me forward.
I’m closing the distance fast.
Blood.Blood. Blood.
The need pumps through my veins.
He’s veered off the path, into the darkness of shadows, but I can see him as if sunlight is pounding down.
I leap at him, fangs bared, only to crash against something solid and hard and then be jerked backward until my ass hits the ground.
Lucian’s voice booms in the silence. “Run!”
The guy doesn’t need another warning. With wide eyes, he takes off.
And when Lucian whirls on me, I understand why. Lucian looks feral. His eyes are an electrifying shade of blue, and his dark hair has mostly fallen out of the queue at the nape of his neck. The skin of his face is so pale I can see purplish veins underneath, and his fangs are on full display.
He’s a monster, unlike I have ever seen him. Worse than when he first ripped Santiago from me. It’s as if he doesn’t know whether to kill me or fuck me in that moment. And my breath stutters as fear and lust collide inside me.
“Lu—” His name dies on my tongue as Lucian’s full weight lands on top of me.
“I can’t leave you alone for one fucking second, Elliot,” he says, fury rippling out of him as his body grinds me into the dirt. “Not one second.”
The words hit harder than the impact.
This asshole wants to talk about trust?
The irony is bitter enough to make me want to laugh. He’s the one who kept the truth about Santiago from me. Not to mention everything about his life and VMR. He may not lie outright, but he omits the truth and that’s just as bad.
I shove all my power into bucking him off, and to my surprise it works. He’s thrown sideways, landing on his knees beside me.
I barely get my footing before he’s on me again.
He moves like a force of nature—too fast, too strong—and grabs me and slams me into the ground hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. Pain blooms bright and sharp, but it only feeds the fury boiling in my veins. I claw at him, strike wherever I can reach, nails scraping skin, fists landing uselessly against his chest.
He throws me aside like I weigh nothing.
I roll, scramble, lunge again, and he catches me mid-motion, spinning and hurling me into a nearby bush. Wood splinters and pokes into my sides. Fabric rips as my dress is caught on the bush’s sharp branches.
“You bastard!” I stand again, feeling blood start to trickle from the deep scratches across my waist. Because the shimmery drape of my dress has been torn almost all the way through, my right breast and most of my torso are now exposed.
Pain and rage tangle together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I’m going to kill him.
He stalks toward me, eyes wild, jaw tight, every inch of him vibrating like he’s barely holding himself back.
“You talk about trust,” I spit, forcing myself upright, “but you’ve been keeping things from me since I first walked into your office.”
That stops him.
Not because he’s surprised. Because it infuriates him. “I’ve never lied.”
