In the few short hours since he’d killed that nasty pacemaker, his inhumanness had escalated to a terrifying degree.
How was he changing so fast?
And what would happen when his system couldn’t take it anymore?
Panic gushed through me, bringing vertigo and blind spots. “We need to go to Iceland. Right now.”
“Iceland?” He scowled. “You think shoving me into a snowdrift is going to stop this?”
“No...but my company is there. They might be able to help.”
“Ah, yes.” He went fatally still. “The company you’ve told me nothing about and somehow provides you with millions of dollars and a bad-tempered bodyguard.”
“H-How do you know how much money I—”
“Doesn’t matter.” Twisting to face the window, he muttered under his breath, “If I start thinking about all the things you’re keeping from me, I can’t promise this plane won’t turn to ash.”
“Things I’m keeping from you?” I shook my head. “I’m not keeping anything from you. It’s just...my past never came up in conversation—”
“Quiet.” Another blast of scalding energy escaped him.
“I really do think we should go to Iceland. You’re burning up—”
“I’m well aware.” Looking at me with utter exhaustion, he chuckled blackly. “I’m barely holding on, so don’t do anything that will make me lose control, alright? Don’t think, don’t move, don’t talk. Just sit there.”
Our eyes locked.
My hand strayed over the enemy lines he’d drawn and landed on his forearm.
His reaction was instantaneous.
Sucking in a sharp, broken breath, his entire body seized. Heat exploded off him in a brutal wave, making the air shimmer. With a violent shudder and a sound that was half snarl, half relief, he reached for me.
His hand shot out, fisting the front of my dress and hauling me into him with enough force to knock the breath right out of my lungs.
His mouth crashed on mine.
His lips burned so, so badly.
His tongue shot between my lips, scorching and frantic.
But it wasn’t a kiss.
It was survival.
My hands flew up on instinct, landing over his stitches.
He groaned into my mouth, and I felt something inside me answer back.
A frosting, a freezing...
I cried out as the vicious darkness of yet another vasovagal syncope tried to knock me out.
But then, he jerked away.
Tearing his mouth from mine with a sharp curse, he shoved me back as if he’d suddenly realised what he was doing and hated himself for it.
“Fuck—” He dragged a hand down his face and spun to face the wall. With a snarl, he lunged for the window, wrenching the shade up as if he needed air.
