Page 95 of The Puppeteer and the Poisoned Pawn

“I’m here. I’m here.” His muscles bulge under my hands, gripping him for dear life. His scent of cedar and sandalwood overwhelm me. His own atmosphere of dark, masculine fragrance. I’ve longed to breathe it in again.

I see flashes of the worst moments of my life. Cradling his head in my lap. Trying to stop the rush of blood with my hands.

“He’s suffering,” Ruth said through a garbled cry.“I think you need to say goodbye.”

I howl as Dessin lets me unravel in his arms. “You were dead!”

“I was. And it killed me more watching youwatchme die.”

“I can’t get the memory out of my head,” I sob. “I see your blood on my hands everywhere I go.”

He nods, a tendon ticcing in his jaw.

“And I’ve become a monster.” Which I can’t bring myself to feel bad for at this moment. The only emotions clouding my head are heartbreak, relief, agony, and pure bliss.

“You—”

Dessin dips his head down, taking my mouth with his own, cutting off my question. It’s a tortured, traumatized kiss. It’s pleading and suffering and praying for mercy. Through tears, sweat, and blood. He lets me weep softly, kissing away the scars and bruises. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he squeezes me tighter.

“I fucking missed you, baby,” he exhales against my lips. And with one swift jerk of his arms, he thrusts me upward, slinging my legs around his hips.

I release a pained moan as he presses his growing arousal into my center, trapping me against the tree, claiming my mouth as he shows me just how much he missed me. Strong hands squeeze the underside of my thighs to the point of discomfort. But the good kind. I want him to bruise me. Scratch me. Mark me permanently, so there’s no way I’ll ever forget this moment.

I tighten my hands in his hair, pulling him closer to me, silently begging him to deepen our kiss. And he does. His hot tongue dips over mine, forcing my mouth to open wider, to whimper into his feverish kiss.

He becomes rock hard at the sounds I make. It only spurs me on.

“Christ, I need to have my hands on you every day,” he growls against my lips.

“Like this?” I bring his hand from my thigh to my breast, guiding him to feel my nipple tighten at his touch.

“Yes,fuck,” he groans. “I’ll never get enough of you, baby.”

“I want you inside me.” I tug at his belt buckle. “I want you to fill me up. I want you to make my pain go away.”

His eyes darken, expression twisting in arousal and anguish.

“Not yet,” he says huskily. His hands release me from around his waist. And that gaze softens, losing focus as he dissociates from this moment.

Kane

Trees and sky, all blurry and unclear in my dissociation.

I blink several times, waiting to understand where I am and why I’ve surfaced. It’s always this way, though I try not to show it. The amnesia when we front can be frightening, those heavy moments like I’ve just woken from sleepwalking. My hands feel wet, my body aching as if I’ve been running or fighting. I suck in a steadying breath as my vision clears.

And I am immediately aware of why I returned to the front.

She looks like a warrior from one of the colonies. Her hair is wild, tied down by a couple of braids on the sides of her head. And her leather hunting dress is splattered in blood. My eyes dash to her face, her emerald-green eyes surrounded by tiny red veins. Her tears track through streaks of blood.

I download as much information as I can from Dessin. From the moments leading up to where we are.

Vexamen Breed chasing her. Feeling the beat of fear course through Dessin’s chest. Finding her like a ship to a beacon. Killing them all. First time seeing her again.

I’ve been watching, close to the front, after Dessin found her, but losing bits of that memory is our way of protecting each alter.

“Kane?” she whispers, wet and strained.

My body goes rigid. She’s always looked at me with this sense of comfort and fondness, like she knew or felt that we have this bond but didn’t remember where it came from. It’s as if someone held my heart out and dangled it in front of me.

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