Page 10 of Bad Blood Alpha

“Do you want me to take that bullet out of your shoulder or not?”

He was tempted to just leave it in there. Tank or Jasmin could dig it out when he got home. But there was something compelling in her eyes.

Something that made him want to trust her.

He should be trusting his paranoia, and the instincts that had kept him alive for almost twenty years with no one at his back. Instead, he was filled with feelings—desire, the urge to protect, the need to learn everything about her.

The need to make her happy. Fuck.

That had to be some kind of spell. But somehow he didn’t care. Slowly, he turned his shoulder so she could work on him again.

He still felt twitchy, like all his nerve endings were misfiring. It wasn’t the bullet; he’d been shot more times than he could count.

It was the adrenalin, he kept telling himself. And his attraction to her.

To distract himself, he talked. “Are you sure those hellhounds can’t track us here?”

“No one’s found this place so far. But there’s no such thing as completely safe. You should know that.”

He sure as hell did.

Finally, after gouging around with forceps like a Roto-Rooter technician cleaning a drain, she pulled the bullet out and dropped it in a small stainless steel bowl with a “plink.” He felt the flow of blood increase again, running down his back and soaking into the waistband of his cargo pants.

This was why he usually wore black, when he wasn’t wearing jeans. No worries about getting the bloodstains all the way out.

She caught most of the blood with a wad of gauze and wiped it away. “This needs a couple of stitches,” she said.

“Nah, it’ll be fine.” He was twitching all over now. He had to get away from this woman, and the effect she had on him. “Just give me a band-aid.”

The problem was, he didn’t want to get away. Before he could stop himself, he added, “Or you can kiss it and make it better, if you want.”

He shouldn’t have said that. The thought of her lips on his skin made his dick jump. Shit.

She said, “I still have all my weapons on me. Many of them are sharp. And yet here you are, making inappropriate sexual advances.”

“Am I?” He turned and raised his eyes to hers. He wanted her to feel the craziness he was feeling. His nerves were buzzing, and his blood pounded in his temples.

They stared at each other for a timeless moment.

Then, suddenly, he was on his feet, his lips crashing into hers. The momentum backed them up a couple of steps, until her back was against the wall.

Inside him, his lion roared.

He half-expected her to stab him in the neck with the scalpel—hell, he was itching for another fight. Something. He wanted to rage at her; he wanted to force her to tell him what the fuck she was doing to him.

He wanted to plunder her body and make her scream his name.

After one shocked moment, her mouth opened to his, both surrendering and demanding. She pressed herself against him hungrily, meeting his strength and passion with their equal match.

He could feel the heat coming off her body, feel her buzz of adrenalin as if it were his own. He could feel each of her breaths, every heartbeat, the blood pulsing through her veins.

His lion wanted to close its jaws around her neck, bite down and feel the blood.

He wanted to fight, and kill, and protect—and he wanted to throw her down on the bed and rip his claws through the leather on her body, exposing her naked before him.

He wanted to ravish her and worship her all at the same time. The sensations, her scent, almost made him dizzy. He pressed his mouth frantically against hers, pulling her to him, possessing and begging at the same time.

Fuck. He was shaking.