Page 4 of Prince of Wrath

I walked another circle around him. “By the way, can you tell me the name of your gorgeous date tonight? You’ve really outdone yourself this time. She’s quite the catch.”

“I—her name is, uh . . .” His eyes darted between Sloane and me, which gave him the appearance of a rat trapped on a sinking ship.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You don’t even know my name?” Sloane finally broke her silence. Anger flared her nostrils, and fire burned in her eyes.

“It’s just . . . I didn’t catch it when you told me at the party. It was so loud, and I was tipsy.”

Sloane shook her head in her disgust.

I returned to Sloane’s side and slipped my arm around her waist. “To answer your question, I am a demon, and I am here to deliver punishment for your wicked ways.”

Her eyes shot to me, but the ball of dark, heavy energy was already growing in my free hand. I held it up for Todd to inspect before allowing it to fall through the floor, crackling and popping with the melting of steel and plastic. The hull whined and sizzled until the vessel started taking on water. But before Todd could release his first terrified screech, I pulled Sloane through the void and into the front room of her Malibu home.

She leaped from my hold.

“Fuck!” She fisted her hair. “I left my purse. My phone is in there. I have to call the Coast Guard. He could die. Damn it, Seere!”

I held up my hand, her purse dangling on two of my fingers. “Don’t worry, spitfire. He found the life vests and raft. Unlike the female form, he knows his way around that boat.”

Sloane snatched her purse and rummaged through it to find her phone, but the battery was dead. I’d made sure of that.

“You’ve gone too far this time.” She coughed out through tears of relief. Or maybe frustration.

I closed the distance between us, backing her up until I was the only thing she could see.

My hand on the wall near her head caged her into my torso. “You needed a reminder of who you belonged to, Sloane.”

I dragged the tips of my fingers up her thigh, and the palm of my hand nudged the hem of her dress up to reveal her tattoo. A ugly mark that was not only put there by someone other than me, but it had made my life tedious for far too long.

“You’ve become too comfortable running from me.” My eyes fell between us to the ink. Her gaze followed and she watched as the dark lines lightened then disappeared. “There now. Isn’t that better?”

“It’s not like it worked anyway,” she said with a sardonic huff, daggers staring back at me when our eyes met.

“It was harder to find you, but you can never run far enough from me.”

My hand at her thigh inched higher, and her breaths quickened as I hooked a finger into the seam of her panties.

“The hunt was thrilling, but knowing that I can touch you anytime I want . . .”

“Seere.” The warning in her breathy voice stilled my exploring digits.

“I love the sound of my name on your tongue. Can I have a taste?” I teased her bottom lip with a slow lick.

For the quickest of moments, I thought I could feel her jaw relax as if she were contemplating letting me in. The crack in the iron wall she had built around herself gave me a glimpse of my truest desire. But it faded as soon as it had started.

She gasped, and her hand gripped my wrist. The fear that staunched her face attempted to hide the race of daring in her veins. With a tender touch, I could coax the lust from the depths she was shoving it into. I could have her moaning my name and begging for mercy.

But not tonight.

Not with the scent of another man still so fresh on her skin.

I opened the space between our bodies, but she didn’t let go of my arm. Her anger had slipped into surprise, maybe even longing. And that was how I would leave her.

Wanting.

Loathing.

Craving.