I try to get another kick at Christine’s ribs, but she moves faster than I thought she could, dodging out of my path and grabbing me around the waist.
I twist and punch her arm, but I might as well be punching iron for all the good it does.
Gravity lurches beneath me, and my back hits the leaf litter. For a moment, I think the spike of pain is what immobilizes me; then I become aware of Christine’s forearm pressing across my chest. Her shin braces just below my knees, pinning me in place.
I struggle wildly, and my breath comes out in a strangled, desperate noise as all I manage to do is tug on my shoulder more.
“Stop that,” Christine barks.
A real, honest-to-goodness alpha bark.
My whole body goes still. It’s like I suddenly plunged into a warm bath. The pain eases, and my muscles relax.
Sweet coconut and sea salt fill my head, and my mouth waters.
Christine leans close to my ear and growls, “MaybeIwas going easy onyou.”
My back arches into her forearm, breath catching in my lungs.
Her eyes are endless azure skies, soulfire blue.
I’m drowning in that ocean again.
Her scent opens to bright petrichor laced with static, the forest during a heavy rain, the promise of lightning on the wind.
Then, like a thunderclap, her lips crash against me, hot and soft. Her tongue presses into my mouth and mine rises to meet hers, chased by a low moan in my throat.
Her hand slides around the back of my head, pulling me closer, as the other grips my waist.
I can’t breathe and I don’t want to, I wantthis, I need this, this addictive feeling that settles my nerves, that sayseverything’s alrightso profoundly it makes nicotine seem like a placebo.
She tastes like salt, and every stroke of her tongue leaves me needing more,more. Still, my arms rest limp above my head, lax muscles refusing to move.
My lungs scream for air, and I draw a ragged gasp past Christine’s teeth catching my lip.
She pulls back a fraction, and her eyes find mine, stricken and wild.
Our hot, heavy breath mingles between us.
Time seems to slow at the eye of the hurricane.
Then the storm comes howling in.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
CHRISTINE
“Cut!Yes! Just…yes!”
Like a camera pulling back into a wide shot, the rest of the set suddenly floods my awareness: Lana barking orders; the hushed tones of Bella and Andy, just loud enough to identify their voices but not enough to hear what they’re saying; the click of pens and rustle of papers; the quiet whirring of the camera sliding back into position.
Fragments reach my overly sharp ears.
“…wasn’t in the script…” “…wait, do you think they’re…” “…never seen anything like that…”
I ease off of Mylo and stand, then reach a hand down. His eyes are unfocused, as if he’s in a daze, but he takes my hand and lets me pull him to his feet.
