Page 27

“You really did that,” I swallow, “for me?”

Hunter steps closer, close enough that I can smell the faint scent of his soap and the cold winter air still clinging to his coat. His eyes search mine, dark and intense. “Everything I do now is for you, Nettie. Like I said last night, no one is ever going to hurt you again.”

I swallow hard, heart hammering against my ribs. The horror is still there, sharp and real, but so is the warmth. So is the pull–that dangerous, magnetic pull toward the violence he’s wrapped around me like armor.

I don’t step away from it or try to hide. There’s no room for disassociation here. I lean into the feeling and the heat and clarity it brings with it. I reach for Hunter’s hand.

For once, he doesn’t step back. His fingers twitch like he’s fighting the instinct, but he lets me take it. His palm is rough and warm against mine.

“You know better,” he warns.

“I know that you used these hands to avenge me.” I flatten our palms together, pressing them close. His hand is so much bigger than mine–broad and strong. Mine looks small and delicate in comparison, dark skin against his paler tone. Everything about us is opposite, but right now, we fit perfectly. The heat of his skin sinks into me, grounding and dangerous.

Hunter’s breath catches. He bends down until our noses are almost touching, his forehead hovering just above mine. I can smell the faint trace of soap from his shower the night before–clean and sharp, mixed with the warm, masculine scent that is purely him. Heat rolls off his body in waves, pulling me closer even though neither of us has moved another inch.

“Hex,” he warns, voice low and rough, barely more than a whisper. There’s an edge to it–a restraint stretched thin, like a wire about to snap. I don’t pull back.

I tilt my face up just a fraction, letting my breath brush against his lips. “Maybe I don’t want to know better right now.”

His free hand comes up, hovering near my waist like he can’t decide whether to push me away or drag me closer. The box with Billy’s hand sits forgotten on the table beside us, a brutal reminder of exactly what these hands are capable of. The thought should terrify me. Instead, it sends a slow, liquid heat curling through my veins.

Hunter’s eyes darken, pupils blown wide. For a heartbeat, the tension between us feels alive–crackling, electric, ready to ignite. His thumb brushes once over my hand, a tiny, involuntary movement that betrays how much he’s fighting himself.

“I can’t.”

I squeeze his hand tighter, refusing to let go. The contrast of our skin, the size difference, the violence those fingers have committed in my name–it all crashes over me at once. I’m scared. I’m impressed. And right now, standing this close to him, I’m aching for the man who would cut pieces off someone just to keep me safe.

The air between us grows thick, charged with everything we haven’t said and everything we’re both trying not to feel.

Hunter’s eyes drop to my mouth. The warning in them flickers and dies, replaced by something raw and hungry. His hand, the same one that cut Billy’s apart, tightens around mine, not to pull away, but to anchor himself.

Then he breaks. “Fuck it.”

He closes the last inch between us with a low sound in his throat, and his mouth crashes into mine.

This isn’t like the last time when we were at Noir Sanctum. There’s no force, no dominance, no game of control being led by the King in another room. This kiss is pure, desperate passion–months of restraint finally snapping. Hunter kisses me like a dam breaking loose.

His free hand slides up to cup my neck, fingers threading into the hair at my nape as he tilts my head exactly how he wants it. His lips are firm and warm, moving against mine with a slow, devouring intensity that makes my knees weak. When I part my lips on a soft gasp, he doesn’t hesitate–his tongue slides in, tasting me thoroughly.

I moan into his mouth, and the sound seems to unravel whatever was left of his control. He steps forward, pressing me back against the edge of the table, and the only thing I can feel is the hard heat of his body against mine. His jeans do nothing to hide how much he wants this–how much he wants me.

My hand is trapped between our chests, and I can feel his heartbeat hammering against my knuckles, fast and wild, matching my own.

Hunter kisses me deeper, slower, like he’s pouring every unspoken thought into it–every time he holds back, or when he watches me with Damon. I feel the violent things he’s done in my name. There’s reverence in the way his tongue strokes mine, hunger in the way he sucks gently on my bottom lip, possession in the way his fingers tighten at the back of my neck.

I kiss him back just as fiercely, rising onto my toes, my free hand sliding up his chest to grip his shoulder. His hand drops to my hip, thumb digging into my side. His teeth graze my bottom lip, tugging hard. It’s the tiniest glimpse of him, the man I want–the man I know he’s too afraid to unleash. “More,” I say, hoping to spur this further, but he jolts back, body trembling like the weight of what he’s just done has slammed into him all at once. His chest heaves, breaths coming hard and fast. His eyes are dark and wild, the careful control cracking open. Whatever lives deep inside him–that quiet, violent thing he keeps chained down–is clawing its way to the surface, raw and desperate.

I’m not afraid.

I reach for him again, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and beg, soft but clear, “Do it again.”

He shakes his head once, jaw tight, voice rough. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“What if I do?” I hold his gaze, refusing to look away. “What if I want the man who kills for me? The man who will do anything to protect me?” My voice cracks, but I push through it. “I spent years at the mercy of people who only wanted to use me. What if I want to feel something instead of sadness and fear?”

We stare at each other for a long, heavy moment. The air between us feels electric, humming with everything unsaid. I can see the war happening behind his eyes–the part of him that wants to give in battling against the part that still believes he shouldn’t. His resolve is weakening. I can feel it in the way his hand trembles slightly where it rests on my waist, in the way his breath keeps catching every time his gaze drops to my mouth.

Then the door opens.