Page 65 of UNAwere

They fight well. And I still hardly know what I’m doing, going off the memory of the basic practice drills Nolan used to put me through, before he gave up on me when he found out I wasn’t a fighter. But it doesn’t seem to matter. Not with the rage roaring through me. Not with the strength that rage adds to my hits. I latch on and thrash my head, blood spraying from their front leg.

They yelp and nip at my ear, but I’m quick to duck out of the way, pulling my jaw in the opposite direction and twisting their leg from its socket.

Yelping, the Karver Were sinks to the ground and shuffles backwards. Briggs is suddenly there, and he pins it. It cries out, having not noticed him come up.

I glance over to where the bodies of the other two Karvers lay, their throats ripped out. Briggs is covered in blood. It oozes from his muzzle in long strings and drips onto the grey Karver’s face. In a flash, he rips at their throat with his fangs, and I flinch as blood sprays. Silence descends upon us, the rain muffling my laboured breaths, the flashing lights of the hatchback’s hazards blinking across Briggs’s huge form.

And then he sheds, his head hanging low over the body, and terror coils around the length of my spine when he lifts it and meets my gaze from under his brows.

‘Sybbie,’ he grates. ‘Go back to the fucking car.’

I don’t question him. Even though adrenaline is coursing through me, and I’m shaking with rage and something else, I obey him.

I’m dripping with rain, shivering and naked, when Briggs comes back to the car, climbing into the driver’s side.

I stare at him. A drop of rainwater trails down the profile of his nose and drips off the tip. The long part of his hair is slicked back and dripping heavy streams of water down his shoulders. And his entire front is covered in blood.

I dip my chin, glimpsing rainwater and blood running in rivulets down my breasts.

The crawling sensation is back inside my skin, and I rub my hands up and down my arms, shuddering. Briggs reaches into the backseat and pulls clothes from his bag, climbing into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. And I can’t help but notice the long length of his legs as he gets changed; the way his muscles tense and pull in his chest and arms, the hair that spills down his navel, to the thick cock between his legs.

I’m transfixed, not noticing when he throws a shirt at me, and I jump, quickly shrugging it over my head. It’s covered in his scent, and I can’t stop the moan that claws up my throat when I realise, burying my nose into the neckline.

Briggs swears through gritted teeth and puts the car back into drive. The tyres squeal as he stamps down on the accelerator. But I’m too busy sniffing his shirt to notice. Too busy wondering why it feels like there are ants under my skin, and why the scent of him, the feeling of his shirt against me, is the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever felt. And why the space between my naked thighs has grown slick.

My mind wavers.

I don’t realise we’ve made it to the motel until Briggs is opening the passenger door and bending in to carry me out. I moan, curling into his chest, and I feel his mouth against my temple, shushing me.

The ants are made of fire, and they sting and bite their way through my veins. I arch my back against the sensation, whimpering, and Briggs runs a hand over my head, shushing me quietly.

I’m so hot. I want to claw out of the T-shirt he gave me, but I also don’t want to ever part from the intensity of his scent.

I moan, gripping onto the back of his neck, not realising I’m opening my mouth against his throat until I’m tasting his blood on my tongue, tainted by the blood still covering my lips. A growl slips past them – I need him, and him only.

‘Fuck, Sybbie…’ he whispers.

We’re inside, out of the rain. I didn’t even notice getting here, but he’s set me on the counter of a sink, in a white room that’s much too bright. I make a sound of protest, and he turns and swats the switch on the wall to turn off the light. But I can’t have him that far from me, and I grab him and pull him back between my legs.

‘Sybbie…’ His voice is a plea.

I moan, running my tongue across his neck. It’s no longer covered in blood, and I wonder why.

‘Didn’t want to scare the motel clerk,’ he murmurs, seeing my frown of confusion. He smiles, eyes soft on my face, and reaches up to tuck my wet hair behind my ear. ‘You little fucking firecracker.’

I’m too far gone to tell him he owes me about forty-five dollars. All I can think about is the amount of clothes between us that I want gone. I reach for his shirt, but he grasps my hands gently and pulls them away.

‘I’m so hot,’ I gasp. ‘Please. Get naked with me.’

He laughs. ‘Sweetheart, you don’t even know the amount of trouble you’d get me in if I listened to you.’

‘I don’t care,’ I whisper.

I let out a complaint when he goes to the shower to turn it on.

‘You need to cool down,’ he tells me, holding my hands as I try to grasp him.

‘Please, Jude.’