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but
admire, even if their trembling edges touched a place inside him that he didn’t
want to think about. And just like that, the moment of easiness was gone,
replaced by the familiar swell of discontent and aggression.
Holding that pure gray gaze, he started to walk across
the room, closing the distance between them. “And what about us, Morgan? What
about our little problem?”
Kierland knew he’d surprised her again by the
tightening in her shoulders and arms. Her expression was a mixture of wariness
and alert focus, as if she were trying to identify the danger in the situation.
“Since we don’t have a problem, I’m not exactly sure what you mean.”
A rough, gritty bark of laughter rumbled in his chest
as he crossed his arms and propped his shoulder against the front of a massive
mahogany armoire, leaving no more than a handful of feet between them. “You
honestly think we’re going to be able to spend this much time together and not
kill each other?” he asked, lifting his brows.
Either that…or screw each other to death, he thought.
Both were a possibility. Though he was strongly leaning toward the second,
given the fact that it was all he could think about. All he could ever think
about when he was close to her. And God did that piss him off.
What made it even worse was that she usually did her
best to ignore him, acting if she wasn’t affected by his presence at all. He
couldn’t even use his heightened sense of smell to detect her arousal, like
he’d used to, knowing she’d become a master of control over her body these
days. She’d worked hard to perfect her masking skills, since she’d known she
would need every advantage if she was going to survive as a Watchman.
And yet, there were times, every now and then, that
Kierland could have sworn she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. At least
for a good, hard, sweaty go between the sheets, though she buried it beneath
the sparks and anger that always flew between them, their encounters forever
laced with bitterness and frustration.
But it hasn’t always been like that.
Popping his jaw, he hated that those silent words were
true. There’d been a time when he and Morgan had been…hell, he didn’t know what
to call it. Friends? In a way. For a while, he’d have even been willing to bet
his soul that she might feel more for him than hunger and lust, but then she’d
gone and hooked up with Granger, on orders from the Consortium, since they’d
thought the headstrong vamp might be more willing to follow their orders when
under the influence of Morgan’s tender, sensual persuasion. The affair had
started just days after Nicole had been murdered, and Kierland had been forced
to struggle with his rage at the same time guilt was tearing him apart. To see
the girl who’d fascinated him in ways that no other woman ever had—the girl he
should have already claimed as his own, if he’d had that choice—all but whoring
herself out with the arrogant vampire had been too much for him to handle.
The months that followed had only deepened his
resentment, as he’d been forced to watch her fall in love with the bastard.
It’d been like having a knife dug into his heart, over and over and over. As a
result, his emotions where Morgan was concerned had become a crazy, chaotic
blend of anger and guilt and loss that continued to rage within him to this
day.
Of course, she’d never had any idea how he’d felt
about her. He supposed he should have been thankful for that little triumph, but
it left a bitter, sour taste in Kierland’s mouth.
“Well?” he prompted, anticipating her response.
The uncomfortable rise of color along the delicate
crest of her cheekbones would have been a satisfying sight, if he hadn’t found
it so damn alluring. “I’ve never really understood why you hate me so much,
Kierland. But I’m willing to put our differences aside for Kellan’s sake. Are
you?”
“You’re not leaving me much choice, are you?” he
asked,
admire, even if their trembling edges touched a place inside him that he didn’t
want to think about. And just like that, the moment of easiness was gone,
replaced by the familiar swell of discontent and aggression.
Holding that pure gray gaze, he started to walk across
the room, closing the distance between them. “And what about us, Morgan? What
about our little problem?”
Kierland knew he’d surprised her again by the
tightening in her shoulders and arms. Her expression was a mixture of wariness
and alert focus, as if she were trying to identify the danger in the situation.
“Since we don’t have a problem, I’m not exactly sure what you mean.”
A rough, gritty bark of laughter rumbled in his chest
as he crossed his arms and propped his shoulder against the front of a massive
mahogany armoire, leaving no more than a handful of feet between them. “You
honestly think we’re going to be able to spend this much time together and not
kill each other?” he asked, lifting his brows.
Either that…or screw each other to death, he thought.
Both were a possibility. Though he was strongly leaning toward the second,
given the fact that it was all he could think about. All he could ever think
about when he was close to her. And God did that piss him off.
What made it even worse was that she usually did her
best to ignore him, acting if she wasn’t affected by his presence at all. He
couldn’t even use his heightened sense of smell to detect her arousal, like
he’d used to, knowing she’d become a master of control over her body these
days. She’d worked hard to perfect her masking skills, since she’d known she
would need every advantage if she was going to survive as a Watchman.
And yet, there were times, every now and then, that
Kierland could have sworn she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. At least
for a good, hard, sweaty go between the sheets, though she buried it beneath
the sparks and anger that always flew between them, their encounters forever
laced with bitterness and frustration.
But it hasn’t always been like that.
Popping his jaw, he hated that those silent words were
true. There’d been a time when he and Morgan had been…hell, he didn’t know what
to call it. Friends? In a way. For a while, he’d have even been willing to bet
his soul that she might feel more for him than hunger and lust, but then she’d
gone and hooked up with Granger, on orders from the Consortium, since they’d
thought the headstrong vamp might be more willing to follow their orders when
under the influence of Morgan’s tender, sensual persuasion. The affair had
started just days after Nicole had been murdered, and Kierland had been forced
to struggle with his rage at the same time guilt was tearing him apart. To see
the girl who’d fascinated him in ways that no other woman ever had—the girl he
should have already claimed as his own, if he’d had that choice—all but whoring
herself out with the arrogant vampire had been too much for him to handle.
The months that followed had only deepened his
resentment, as he’d been forced to watch her fall in love with the bastard.
It’d been like having a knife dug into his heart, over and over and over. As a
result, his emotions where Morgan was concerned had become a crazy, chaotic
blend of anger and guilt and loss that continued to rage within him to this
day.
Of course, she’d never had any idea how he’d felt
about her. He supposed he should have been thankful for that little triumph, but
it left a bitter, sour taste in Kierland’s mouth.
“Well?” he prompted, anticipating her response.
The uncomfortable rise of color along the delicate
crest of her cheekbones would have been a satisfying sight, if he hadn’t found
it so damn alluring. “I’ve never really understood why you hate me so much,
Kierland. But I’m willing to put our differences aside for Kellan’s sake. Are
you?”
“You’re not leaving me much choice, are you?” he
asked,
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