crooning nonsensical things against her ear like he’d known her for years.
“I know a healer,” he said. “We’ll get the marks to fade.”
“Not yours though,” she said, tears blurring her vision as she eased back and dared a direct look into his eyes. They were lightened to a silvery color, but filled with concern. “I want your claiming marks to stay.”
“Okay, kitty.” His eyes softened and pooled with some emotion she couldn’t decipher. “Whatever you want.”
She should flinch away from that nickname, but he didn’t say it condescendingly like he had the first time. On the contrary, now she liked the way his voice turned velvet when he pushed the word past his lips. Boldly, she slid her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his shoulder. With a gentle squeeze, she whispered, “You’re a good man, Dillon McCain. I’m proud to be your friend.”
Friend tasted bitter against her tongue, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.
His hands hovered over her back, like he didn’t want to hurt her, and he sighed. “You’re messing with my head, Bre.”
Confused, she eased back to see if he was teasing her. “I’m sorry.” It was always her go-to answer, because she was always wrong.
“Stop apologizing,” he growled out.
The gravel in his voice made her flinch away and draw her hands from his neck to her chest. “Sorry,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
His silvery gaze slid to her lips, and she stifled the urge to apologize for the apology.
“They sure did a number on you, didn’t they?”
She didn’t understand what he meant and shook her head in bewilderment. His eyes followed her lips still, and a hungry look obscured his frown. Her body felt pulled to him, as if it were cold and needed his warmth. A low humming filled her body as his hand gathered her hair at the nape of her neck. Her breathing sped up until she was panting and her throat rattled embarrassingly.
“Are you purring, kitty?” he asked in the softest voice. A slow smile crooked his lips.
Mortified, she jerked away and hit the wall with her shoulder blades. “I’m—”
He angled his face, warning in his expression. “Don’t,” he whispered.
Without another word, he stood and left the bathroom.
Left her cowering by the shower.
Left her pulse galloping and her lips throbbing with a desire for something she didn’t understand.
Without another word, he left her heart and soul thoroughly altered.
Chapter Seven
The drive to Bron’s house was nothing short of terrifying. Breshia suddenly had something very real to live for, and now here she was, bumping around in Dillon’s passenger seat on the way to her death.
Her timing sucked. She was pretty sure the Fates were smoking joints and sitting around laughing at their crystal ball.
Dillon was silent and eerily still the entire ten minute drive. And with every minute that brought them closer, the air in the truck grew thicker and thicker until she could hardly breathe.
“I lied to you,” he said, shattering the silence.
Dread filled her, and she clenched her hands until her nails dug into her palms. “Okay. About what?”
“I know what is going to happen tonight. At least part of it.” He ghosted a glance her way, then back to the road passing under the high beams. “I disobeyed a direct order, and I’ll be punished for it. I just didn’t want you going into this not knowing what to expect. You have to let it happen, Bre. If we want a shot at avoiding banishment, Bron will have to make an example of me.”
“I don’t want that,” she said. Her voice sounded small, even to her.
“I know, but things are probably a lot different than what you are used to. The best thing you can do for me is keep quiet and let it happen, okay?”
Not even a little part of her wanted to stand idly by while Dillon was hurt. He’d already taken a claw to the chest today, and anything more just seemed unfair. But he was asking,
“I know a healer,” he said. “We’ll get the marks to fade.”
“Not yours though,” she said, tears blurring her vision as she eased back and dared a direct look into his eyes. They were lightened to a silvery color, but filled with concern. “I want your claiming marks to stay.”
“Okay, kitty.” His eyes softened and pooled with some emotion she couldn’t decipher. “Whatever you want.”
She should flinch away from that nickname, but he didn’t say it condescendingly like he had the first time. On the contrary, now she liked the way his voice turned velvet when he pushed the word past his lips. Boldly, she slid her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his shoulder. With a gentle squeeze, she whispered, “You’re a good man, Dillon McCain. I’m proud to be your friend.”
Friend tasted bitter against her tongue, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.
His hands hovered over her back, like he didn’t want to hurt her, and he sighed. “You’re messing with my head, Bre.”
Confused, she eased back to see if he was teasing her. “I’m sorry.” It was always her go-to answer, because she was always wrong.
“Stop apologizing,” he growled out.
The gravel in his voice made her flinch away and draw her hands from his neck to her chest. “Sorry,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
His silvery gaze slid to her lips, and she stifled the urge to apologize for the apology.
“They sure did a number on you, didn’t they?”
She didn’t understand what he meant and shook her head in bewilderment. His eyes followed her lips still, and a hungry look obscured his frown. Her body felt pulled to him, as if it were cold and needed his warmth. A low humming filled her body as his hand gathered her hair at the nape of her neck. Her breathing sped up until she was panting and her throat rattled embarrassingly.
“Are you purring, kitty?” he asked in the softest voice. A slow smile crooked his lips.
Mortified, she jerked away and hit the wall with her shoulder blades. “I’m—”
He angled his face, warning in his expression. “Don’t,” he whispered.
Without another word, he stood and left the bathroom.
Left her cowering by the shower.
Left her pulse galloping and her lips throbbing with a desire for something she didn’t understand.
Without another word, he left her heart and soul thoroughly altered.
Chapter Seven
The drive to Bron’s house was nothing short of terrifying. Breshia suddenly had something very real to live for, and now here she was, bumping around in Dillon’s passenger seat on the way to her death.
Her timing sucked. She was pretty sure the Fates were smoking joints and sitting around laughing at their crystal ball.
Dillon was silent and eerily still the entire ten minute drive. And with every minute that brought them closer, the air in the truck grew thicker and thicker until she could hardly breathe.
“I lied to you,” he said, shattering the silence.
Dread filled her, and she clenched her hands until her nails dug into her palms. “Okay. About what?”
“I know what is going to happen tonight. At least part of it.” He ghosted a glance her way, then back to the road passing under the high beams. “I disobeyed a direct order, and I’ll be punished for it. I just didn’t want you going into this not knowing what to expect. You have to let it happen, Bre. If we want a shot at avoiding banishment, Bron will have to make an example of me.”
“I don’t want that,” she said. Her voice sounded small, even to her.
“I know, but things are probably a lot different than what you are used to. The best thing you can do for me is keep quiet and let it happen, okay?”
Not even a little part of her wanted to stand idly by while Dillon was hurt. He’d already taken a claw to the chest today, and anything more just seemed unfair. But he was asking,
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