Page 28 of The Kill

“I did,” he admits, nodding as he reaches up and buries his fingers in the back of my hair. “I know now that I shouldn’t have. Everything I need is right here.”

The rawness is his voice has switched from anger to something huskier, vibrating through me as he massages the tension from the top of my neck and scalp. My body responds, practically melting at his touch.

Tentatively, he touches my chin again when I lower my eyes, torn by the pull of the bond and my lingering anger.

“But I did it because I didn’t want to take from you,” he whispers. Turning my face up to his, his eyes shine down at me in earnest, begging me to listen to him. “I went to Anya for fresh blood, not hers and not to feed from her. I haven’t been able to stomach anything since the moment I caught your scent after all these years. But last night I was desperate, I lost control because my cravings were so strong. What I really needed was you.”

His admission has my frazzled brain whirring, trying to work out how long he has been starving.

“Tyson, that’s weeks. Months?” Flabbergasted, I reach for him, not able to comprehend how he’s even standing when he’s been without sustenance for so long. The wan complexion, his sunken eyes, his reaction to the scent of my blood, all make sense.

He’s starving.

Tyson doesn’t respond to that, or my attempts to pull him toward a chair to sit down, he just stares into my eyes.

“I shouldn’t have gone. Please forgive me.”

Simple, humble, but his words floor me. I nod, shaking my head and resuming my attempts to get him to sit down. “I just didn’t understand what was going on…”

Giving up on trying to move this man-mountain, I go to bring a chair to him. Before I even get two steps away, a strong arm bands around my waist, and I’m lifted backward, deposited on my ass on the antique sideboard.

“Stop fussing.” Tyson brushes my hair back from my face and bends so we’re eye to eye, his big body positioned right between my legs. “I should have stayed to explain. Please forgive me,” he repeats, holding my gaze with an intensity, with a heat in his eyes, that threatens to melt me into a puddle. Slowly, I nod, looking right back into his soul the way he seems to see mine. His shoulders sag with relief.

“Anya runs a blood bar, and there are lots there that partake in blood play, the sexual part, but not me. Ever. My wolf would never allow another woman to sink her teeth into my flesh for pleasure, or vice versa. Only my mate. Only you.” His chest rises and falls a little fast, his heart thumping a little harder. “That’s why I had to go there. I’ve been without for so long, and your blood tasted too good… I didn’t trust myself to resist.”

When his eyes fixate on my neck, on the pulse fluttering under my skin, I’m suddenly aware of how close he is, looming over me, strong hands wrapped around my wrists and pinning my hands to the sideboard.

“Maybe you didn’t need to resist. You didn’t even hang around to ask,” I murmur, staring at his throat as he swallows hard. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stop myself leaning forward and licking it.

“Ask?” he repeats, voice so low it’s practically dripping with desire. “You might have said yes?”

It’s all a bit hazy now, but if I was feeling as turned on as I am right now, I might have. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he repeats in disbelief as his hands slide up my wrists, along my arms, and across my shoulders to cup my neck.

“Tyson?” Wriggling, I test the strength of his grip. It’s iron. For some reason, my wolf loves the fact that we can’t move as his head dips, ever so slightly, closer to my throat.

“Nothing else will satisfy my thirst now that I know what you taste like,” her murmurs. His eyes briefly lift to mine, pinning me in place. “Like heaven.”

Fuck. I squirm as need washes over me, and, low in my belly, my core tightens, my pussy quivering with the need to give him whatever he wants.

“You were jealous, little mate. You didn’t want me to feed from someone else?” His eyes glow redder, vibrant again as he waits, lip twitching when I stubbornly refuse to acknowledge what we both know is true. Tyson then returns to stare at my lips in fascination. “You called this place home. You called me your mate.”

I can’t deny any of that, so I remain perfectly still, staring at the side of his face mutinously, right until he drags his nose along the column of my neck, his lips ghosting along my sensitive skin and coming to rest beside my ear.

“Mandy, are you offering me your blood?”

When his lips brush mine, our breaths mingling, and with the scent of him all around me, I lose my head. It’s the only explanation for why I find myself saying one word against his lips that I already know if going to get me into a whole lot of trouble:

“Yes.”

17

TYSON

This is not how I expected this would go.

I assumed she was pissed-off because I left her here alone after attacking her, and she didn’t know what would happen when I returned.

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