Chapter 6
As we push through the stairwell’s exit, the cold seeps through my thin jacket, but it doesn’t register beneath the buzz of electricity running under my skin.
With my free hand, I tug the mask off so as not to appear suspicious while the fingers of my other hand tighten around Rowan’s, neither of us acknowledging how this contact should feel strange but doesn’t.
“Keep walking,” Rowan murmurs, his breath forming white clouds between us. “Normal pace.”
I focus on my feet, counting how many steps between cracks in the sidewalk as we maintain the rhythm of a couple with nowhere particular to go.
Rowan guides us away from the building with subtle pressure on my hand, turning right at the corner where a broken streetlight offers a pocket of darkness.
The night wraps around us, autumn wind carrying the scent of wood smoke from someone’s chimney mixed with the ever-present undertone of car exhaust.
“You still with me, precious?” His thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
We pass a closed convenience store, its windows covered in faded advertisements. My reflection in the glass appears distorted, features unrecognizable. Is this what happens when you kill someone? Do you become a stranger to yourself?
“Your hands stayed steady,” Rowan says after we’ve walked another block. “Not everyone can do that their first time.”
The implication hangs in the air between us. This might have been my first kill, but it wasn’t Rowan’s. Not by a long shot.
“I work with knives,” I reply, starting to shake.
Rowan’s fingers tighten around mine. “That’s not why.”
He’s right. The steadiness came from the same place inside me that allows me to pick locks without questioning the motive of the client, and where practical necessity trumps morality.
My body betrays me now, though, trembling starting in my knees and working upward. The controlled focus that carried me through the kill dissolves in the open night, leaving me shaking.
“It’s the adrenaline,” Rowan soothes, noticing my shaking. “Your body’s catching up with your brain.”
A police car passes on the opposite side of the street at a slow cruise, its lights off. My heart rate doubles, triple beats hammering so hard my ribs ache. I force myself to keep walking and not look at the car as it passes.
“They’re not searching for us,” Rowan murmurs once the taillights disappear around a corner. “No one knows he’s dead yet.”
The word ‘dead’ hits me like a physical blow. I killed someone and watched the life drain out of him.
“Stop,” Rowan pulls me into the shadow of a closed storefront. “You’re hyperventilating.”
My chest heaves with rapid, shallow breaths that bring no oxygen. The edges of my vision darken, and my free hand reaches out to the building beside me for support.
Rowan steps closer, his body blocking the wind to create a pocket of warmth in the cold night. His pheromones cut through everything else, and my heartbeat quickens for reasons unrelated to murder.
“Focus on me.” He brings his face close to mine. “That’s it. Breathe, precious.”
His palm flattens over my chest, over my thundering heart, and the warmth of his hand penetrates through my clothes.
“Good,” he says as my breathing slows. “You did well back there. Don’t start second-guessing it now.”
The praise shouldn’t affect me, but warmth blooms beneath his palm. I haven’t been told I did well in years. Maybe not ever.
His fingers slide from my chest to my throat, coming to rest on the pulse point under my jaw. The touch sparks heat across my skin despite the cold night, and my pulse jumps beneath his fingertips.
His pupils dilate as he feels my response, and he shifts closer. “You understand what comes after violence like that, don’t you, precious?”
I shake my head, even as instinct coils in my gut.
“Your body needs release.” His deep rumble vibrates through me. “Your brain needs to replace the chemicals you burned through. Fear into pleasure. Death into life.”
His words stir low in my hips, a building heat that has no business existing while a man I killed grows cold less than ten minutes away.
“I don’t—” I start, but my voice fails as he caresses the curve of my jaw.
“You do.” His certainty crashes into me. “I can smell it on you.”
Beneath his touch and words, the last thread that restrains my stifled desires, my needs, my hunger ruptures all at once.
My hand shoots out, grabbing the front of his jacket, and Rowan smiles like he’s been waiting for this to happen.
I pull us into the narrow mouth of an alley between buildings, and the shadows swallow us as I shove him backward until his shoulders hit brick.
His surprise shifts to hunger in the span of a heartbeat. “Here?”
I answer by rising onto my tiptoes and crushing my mouth to his, teeth clicking together in my haste. His lips part, inviting me in with a heat that burns away the autumn chill. He tastes like coffee and mint, his tongue curling around mine with enough skill to weaken my knees.
The hat tumbles off my head, and my backpack falls to the ground. The alley reeks of garbage and stale urine, narrow walls trapping the stench along with the sounds of our ragged breathing.
None of it matters as I mold my body to Rowan’s, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the solid muscle of his thighs, and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal.
My fingers fumble with his belt, clumsy with urgency. His hands circle my wrists, stilling them.
“Slow down, precious,” he murmurs. “We have time.”
“No.” I twist my hands free and return to his belt. “I need this now.”
Understanding flashes, followed by a satisfaction sure to infuriate me under any other circumstances. But right now, all that matters is the burning need coursing through my veins, demanding release.
Rowan cups my jaw, his fingers warm on my cold cheeks. “Then take what you need.”
The permission breaks my last shred of self-control, and I attack his belt with renewed purpose, yanking it open to shove my hand inside.
My breath catches when I wrap my fingers around his thick, pulsing cock.
I can’t close my hand around his girth, the silken skin stretched taut over a shaft so hard my mouth goes dry.
He hisses at my cold touch, but I’m the one who shudders, already imagining the delicious burn of being stretched beyond my limits.
His hands tear at my pants, ripping the button loose and yanking the zipper down in one violent motion. He shoves his palm inside, rough fingers digging past the thin barrier of my boxers without hesitation.
He finds me already slick, and his growl vibrates against my neck as his hand wraps around my hard length with possessive pressure. My hips buck into his grip, a strangled sound tearing from my throat as he strokes me, giving me no time to think, only react.
“Turn around,” he orders, an Alpha rumble slipping through.
I obey without thought, my cheek resting on the rough bricks as Rowan crowds in behind me, his broad chest a wall of heat at my back. His hands slide down my sides, shoving my jeans past my hips and leaving me exposed to the cold night air.
“Fuck,” he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of my ass. “You’re perfect. Already so wet for me.”
The praise sends another rush of heat through me, slick trailing down my thighs. I push back into him in wordless demand. His chuckle rumbles along my spine as he reaches around to stroke me, his grip firm and sure.
“So impatient,” he says, his free hand moving between my legs from behind. “You need it that bad?”
“Yes,” I say, beyond thought now. There’s only the desperate urge to replace the adrenaline crash, to drown the violence in pleasure.
Rowan’s fingers slip inside me, and I jolt at the intrusion, a moan building.
“You’re tight, precious.” He shoves in a second finger. “How long’s it been?”
“Stop talking and do it,” I grit out, pushing back onto his hand. “Now.”
“No prep, no protection?” His voice holds a warning. “Not smart, precious.”
I turn my head to glare at him over my shoulder. “I’m clean. Are you?”
“Mouthy, aren’t you?” His fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that sends sparks across my vision. “Yes, I’m clean.”
“I’m not in Heat, which means I can’t get pregnant. So fuck me already.”
He removes his fingers, and I hear the rustle of fabric as he frees himself.
The blunt pressure of his cock replaces his fingers, and without pause, he thrusts inside, stretching muscles that haven’t taken an Alpha in years and forcing my body to reshape to fit him.
I bite my lip to keep from crying out, the fullness painful, but exactly what I need to drown out everything else.
“Move,” I command, slamming my ass backward to take him deeper.
Rowan grips my hips with bruising force and pulls back, letting me feel every veiny inch of him before driving forward again with enough force to lift me onto my toes and shove me against the brick wall. The rough surface scrapes my palms as I brace myself, welcoming the sting.
He sets a punishing pace, each brutal thrust knocking small puffs of air from my lungs and stretching me wider than I thought possible.
The wet, obscene slap of skin on skin echoes off the brick walls, his heavy shaft dragging along my inner walls with every withdrawal before he rams back in without mercy.
I push back to meet him, needing to take him deeper until Rowan’s hold on my hips forces me to stillness. Then he lifts me until my toes scrape the ground, he drives into me with brutal thrusts, hitting places inside me that blur my vision.
A moan breaks free before I can stop it. The sound bounces off the brick walls, magnified in the enclosed space. Rowan’s hand covers my mouth, palm pressed over my lips.
“Quiet, precious,” he growls into my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “Unless you want an audience.”