Killian
Ivy was frozen in place by her fear. He ran his nose along her jawline and inhaled. He filled his lungs with her fear-filled, smoky, cherry-red scent that he thought he’d chased away with his amorous exploits.
“I’ve finally got you right where I want you,” he growled against her skin, and his voice sounded feral, even to his own ears.
This was it. He had everything he needed to secure Eryn’s freedom.
He shifted his weight to his left hand as he moved his right hand down to Cataplexis strapped to his thigh.
Ivy began to struggle against him, and he let out a snarl, which made her freeze.
He unclipped the blade’s sheath, and his fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger.
He looked into her eyes once more. Her wide-eyed stare was filled with terror.
She was breathing hard, and her hair fanned out around her like a spray of black ink.
Her skin was paler than usual, and a momentary spear of lust threw his determination off balance.
Even when frightened, she was devastatingly beautiful.
Two monsters were at war within him: his desire and his ambition.
As he took in the female beneath him, from the feel of her body against his, to the chemistry they shared, and the intoxicating scent of her, his desire put his ambition in a chokehold.
But as he reminded himself of Eryn, and the promise of her freedom that had driven his every action for the last 112 years, his ambition kneed his desire in the balls and rose up to point a blade at its throat.
With teeth gritted, Killian pulled Cataplexis free.
“Well played, Hunter.” The defeat in her tone tasted sour upon his tongue, and his hand’s movement slowed against his will. The smirk upon his lips withered and his resolve wavered.
In that fleeting moment of weakness, Ivy leaned up and crashed her lips against his.
His desire twisted free of the knife’s edge and fly-kicked his ambition across the room.
He jerked Cataplexis away from him and it clattered to the floor beside the bed.
He brought his hand to her throat, grasping it firmly, but not tightly, as he returned her kiss hungrily.
Ivy’s hand clutched his upper back as her arm wrapped around him, and she entwined the fingers of her other hand in his hair. His desire dealt the killing blow, and the victor of his internal war imbued him with a consuming need.
He traded his hand at her throat for his mouth, nipping the skin and following that with light kisses. She leaned her head back, exposing her throat. She moaned and squirmed beneath him and it only made him hunger for more.
He felt Ivy’s hands travel down to slip beneath his shirt before roaming across the flesh of his back. The skin-to-skin contact made him growl against her neck, and he pressed himself against her, desperate for their bodies to be touching in as many ways as possible.
But before he could allow himself to fall completely under her spell, he pulled back to look at her. Drawing in a deep breath, he saw her eyes were shimmering with gold. Ivy’s desire was etched on her features, and he was certain she could read the same thing on his own.
“If you want to leave, I will return you to Zentroa right now.” It was an offer that he almost hoped that she would accept, if only to make things easier. Because certain things couldn’t get much harder right now.
But if she declined, he needed to be sure that wanting to stay wasn’t borne out of fear. His desire had stronger opponents to fight—like his honour.