Page 7

She suckled, soft and slow, seeking comfort, and the whimpering eased.

“Fuck, little lamb,” I murmured, low and soft.

Her shoulders loosened, but fear still pinched her brow.

I eased a knee onto the mattress and didn’t move. I let her take what she needed. She took me deeper, pulling me into her mouth. Her lips suckled my cock and I swallowed the lump in my throat. I touched her hair. Gentle. So gentle.

“Shh. Go back to sleep. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

She whimpered. The sucking, wet sounds filled the room, and I hardened again. I stroked her hair back from her forehead and let my scent pour out of me. Not the controlled thing I’d kept leashed on the sidewalk. All of it. Thick and warm, enveloping her, filling the little room until there was nothing left to breathe but me.

“No one can get to you in here,” I whispered. “No one but me.”

Her fingers loosened on the blanket.

Her breathing slowed.

So did her mouth.

The crease between her brows smoothed out, and my tip fell from her lips and bobbed against my abs. I pushed myself back into my pants as I kept my eyes on her. I continued petting her hair until the purr came back. She pressed her cheek into the pillow I’d marked and went lax, her whole body sighing into the safety of me.

She’d learned something tonight.

My scent meant she was safe.

Something fierce and possessive settled in my chest, heavier than pride.

I stayed until I was sure the nightmare was gone.

Then I stood.

Her patch was still on the nightstand. Tomorrow she’d stick it to her throat like always. It would hide her scent. It wouldn’t hide mine. Not after tonight. Let anyone who got close enough catch it, and know exactly who she belonged to.

I picked up the bag and slipped out past her blinking tree. I locked her door behind me. Twenty steps back to mine.

I didn’t go inside.

His card was still in my pocket, crumpled in my fist. For my favorite girl.

Stop. Please. Stop.

I pulled off the mask, tucked it into my bag, and headed for the elevator.

He’d run out of time.

Chapter 4

Klaus

Rhett spent most of his nights at my friend’s club ten minutes from her building, in the opposite direction from her work. He’d be there. He always was.

As I rounded the corner, I nodded to Sal at the door. I hummed Jingle Bell Rock as I made my way through the crowd. The music blared through the speakers as people gyrated against each other. Every throat in the place wore a patch. I was the only one who didn’t.

Christmas came early. The dickface was sitting at the bar, drink in hand. I took the stool next to him.

Hollis was working the bar. He had a gin and tonic in front of me before I’d opened my mouth. Twelve years of friendship meant he knew my order, and the look on my face meant he knew I wasn’t here to drink it. His patch sat neat and square on his throat, same as always. Shirt pressed, sleeves rolled to the exact same crease. The safest-looking man in Noelle.

And the only one in this bar more dangerous than me.