The Dark City Chronicles ⁓ Book Three
The apocalypse looms ever closer! Steamy romance, heart-stopping action, seductive vampires, magic that defies nature, sprinkles of dark-humor, and, as always, the everlasting bonds of friendship.
Hannah's strug...
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The thick rug beside the bed muffled his footfalls. Not that he'd been making any noise. He'd tapped into another of his talents. This time, it wasn't mind control or rapid healing. It was being a creep.
He took in her mussed red hair splayed over the white pillowcase and the scent of her-lilacs and a natural sweetness that made him want to put his mouth to her scarred neck and claim her creamy skin for himself.
He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers down her rosy cheek, pulling away when she began to stir.
Tired green eyes blinked up.
Rowan flinched.
Fear spiced the air.
"It's me," Reid assured, smiling past the burn in his eyes. Would she ever look at him and not see Azrael? Some wounds wouldn't ever heal, even with time, and a weak part of himself feared Rowan carried too many for what they had to survive.
He was shown how foolish his fear was when her hands grasped his shirt and pulled him down. A thin arm was tossed around his neck, dragging him into a kiss against impossibly soft lips.
Rowan whimpered, "Reid."
"I'm here." He tried to keep the kiss gentle, safe, but the lips against his pushed back harder, and the arm around his neck pulled tighter.
He fell onto the bed, over her, holding himself up with a palm, shaking fingers grasping messy sheets.
'She's yours,' his whispers sang. 'Not his.'
Reid groaned.
Rowan must have heard pleasure and not the pain of resisting the voices throbbing his head like a drum because she whimpered and arched her back, bringing them flush.
The contact with her warm body threw his every coherent thought out the rain-speckled window.
"Don't leave me again," Rowan pleaded.
"I won't."
"I thought I'd never see you again."
"I'm sorry."
Reid let her pull him down entirely, between her legs, with the messy sheets keeping them from pressing flush. He was careful to keep his weight from crushing her when she felt so fragile.
His touch grazed her arm, palm moving to the shackle of bruises on her thin wrist that had begun to fade but remained an angry purple, stark against her fair skin. He spread his fingers over the marks. Anger jabbed and twisted in his gut when the imprints lined up perfectly.
"They don't hurt," Rowan whispered, slender fingers limp in his hold.
Reid met her eyes, and his gaze must have been dark because he saw a tremble take her mouth. "You're safe with me. You know that, right?"
