NEXT WEEK! AHHH! Mr. Lane and I are prepping to do a dinner out (ahhhh!) for the first time in over a year in celebration since we'll be fully vaccinated. Needless to say, I am THRILLED and will be having so many margaritas. So, so many.
***
“Is that what you are? The wrong sort?”
He slowly turned his face toward her and gave her a dark grin. “You have no idea the sort I am.”
Gemma lifted her chin and met his look without a flicker of hesitation. “What do you want from me?”
“I want your help.”
He didn’t know when he’d decided that. Maybe over the days since he’d given Huxley the order to track her. Maybe the moment he spotted her leaning and hunting at the bar, or when she turned vicious eyes on him.
Despite himself and the hell of loss he’d waded through, there was something about her that drew him in. Like a fly drawn into a spider’s web. He should hate her. Her, and the scars she left on his chest, the trip she’d taken through his past, the sunlight in her scent.
And yet...
She intrigued him. Confused the hell out of him. Surprised him with her daring and biting words. And that scent had him entranced and wondering if he could survive on it alone.
Absolute shame to see the light flicker out so soon.
Not that it was necessary. He had a way to control her if she wouldn’t cooperate. He could bind her to his will beyond the normal compulsion.
But if it kept his kind safe and prevented anyone else suffering death by fae hands, he’d plunge in the dagger himself. After he peeled every last damned secret from her bones.
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