Read Online A Wicked Hunger (Creatures of Darkness 1) by Kiersten Fay - Free Book Online Page A

couldn’t understand was the risk they courted by procuring it illegally, especially for people who had practically everything they could ever want. Why play with fire when the pit created under the flames could so easily swallow you up?
    As Mace predicted, the water grew cold by the end of her shower. No matter. This far from the city, having warm water at all was an unexpected luxury. In the ghetto, most resorted to heating water in pots and transferring it to a tub for what was, at best, not a freezing cold bath.
    A soft curse graced her lips as she stepped out of the stall. She’d forgotten to grab her clothing before entering the bathroom. Now she would have to waltz out there in front of Mace in just a towel.
    She gnashed her teeth and held her chin up as she stepped outside, but her posturing was unnecessary. The room was empty.
    She had no illusions that Mace had gone far, however. Trying to run now would only piss him off.
    With no other option, she dressed in her obnoxiously tight outfit. Once again, she wished she had chosen something that wasn’t so overtly sexy. She’d just finished tying the belt of her trench coat when Mace returned. He too had dressed in his clothing from the day before: dark slacks and a black buttoned up shirt.
    He paused in the doorway when he saw her, and his gaze traveled her length as if he were imagining what resided under her coat. Her first instinct was to shoot him an indignant glare. Then she remembered herself and turned her eyes down.
    There was a small paper bag in his hand. His fist tightened on the folded top before he thrust it at her. “Here. I got you some breakfast. Eat quickly. We have to get a move on.”
    For some reason, she got the impression she’d done something to displease him, but couldn’t fathom what it could be.
    Accepting the bag, she peeked inside and gasped. “Where did you get this?”
    She pulled out the large slice of coffee cake. Of all the treats in the world, coffee cake was by far her greatest weakness. When she was younger, she would sometimes stand outside the bakeries every morning just to smell it. Up until it became more of a punishment than a pleasure. Few people threw away such delicacies for the vagrants to fight over.
    After marrying Winston, she’d eaten a slice nearly every morning. A couple of times, she had even purchased an entire cake and left it near her old stomping ground where the old-timers who had always been kind to her hung around. However, that stopped the day Winston caught her. She still couldn’t understand why it had made him so angry.
    “One of our mountain neighbors was in a baking mood,” Mace replied. “Been smelling it all morning.”
    She frowned as realization struck her. “You compelled someone out of it?”
    Mace rolled his eyes. “Do you want it or not?”
    Conflicted, she bit into the cake and groaned out loud. Mace actually smiled, looking satisfied. But why would he be? For that matter, why would he care if she went hungry? Perhaps he was afraid she’d start complaining during their travels and didn’t want to deal with it.
    Or maybe keeping her fed worked to his advantage, like a farmer with his livestock. She shuddered.
    Cora ate every last crumb and even contemplated licking the bag—who knew when she’d get a treat like th is again?—but Mace was in a hurry.
    Outside, Cora climbed onto the back of the bike and waited for Mace to take his place at her front, but he just stared at her.
    “What is it?” She checked to see if she had dropped crumbs down her front, finding none. When she looked back up, Mace had his phone out and snapped a picture.
    “Now that’s a sight to remember,” he said.
    She was stunned into silence, trying to see herself from his perspective. Her boot-clad leg, the one closest to him, was stretched to the ground, holding her steady on the bike, still tilted on its kickstand. About four inches of her thigh showed between her tall boot and the hem of her coat. Her