Page 28 of Burn for Her

Squeezing her eyes shut, Lena took in several deep breaths. This wasn’t the first time she had a spell like this. Probably wouldn’t be the last either. She was a mess and getting worse. It wasn’t vertigo or fatigue. No, it was this unholy gripping, domineering combination of aggression and lust which assaulted her randomly and without warning.

That phone call saying she could take a tour of The Wicked Garden couldn’t have come at a more perfect time.

Lately her thirst for the most unsavory of lusts ruled her mind, her self-control, and quite frankly, her sense of honor. The more she wanted it, the more her body derailed.

It was foolish to think what she was here for would be a cure, but she’d run out of other ideas, and the amount of effort to get this far had cost her a small fortune. The Wicked Garden was an elite kink club that wasn’t open for everyone. Hell, it sounded more like a myth than an actual place. But she put in the work, handed off the information, and waited for the game-changing phone call to one day come through.

Her patience had paid off. That had to be a sign, right?

Rolling her shoulders back, Lena was going to carpe the fuck out of this diem until she ran out of money, blood, and morals.

Dorian glared out the window as the Uber pulled up to a modest looking home. No car in the driveway, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one in the garage. He liked that it was attached to the house. That was safer. She could close herself in and be locked up and untouchable that way.

“Stay,” he growled at the driver.

Slamming the door shut, he shoved his hands back into his pockets and made his way to the front door.

He had no idea what he was going to say to her. If she was even home.

The thrum of the Uber’s engine was a nuisance, setting Dorian on edge. The buzzing of bugs added another layer of tension. Even the sunshine pissed him off. Gritting his teeth, he tried to calm his nerves, pace his heart rate so he didn’t feel swept up in a current of chaos. The engine noise died down… the bugs quieted… the sun was warm on his already hot brow.

Dorian climbed the three measly steps to her front porch. Flower baskets filled with ferns, flowers and vines hung on both sides of the front porch. A wicker swing swayed gently to his left. Only one person could fit and there were no other seats out here. Did that mean she was single? Not interested? Divorced? Widowed?

Was he about to wreck a woman’s beautiful life with someone else?

Yeah, well, tough shit. She belonged to him and no other.

Exhaling a long, shaky breath, he dragged his gaze away from the swing, and glowered at her red door. Shit. His moral compass was going haywire. He hadn’t thought this through. Hadn’t prepared nearly enough. What the fuck was he doing stalking her online, hopping on a plane, and showing up at her doorstep like this? He was out of his goddamn mind if he thought this was okay. She’d take one look at him and run.

As well she should.

He stared at the little brass knocker on her door. He lifted it with his middle finger, poised to gently tap, tap, tap it to get her attention. His other fist tightened, ready to pound the damn door down and storm inside.

Dorian went crazy with random thoughts. He stared at the doorknob. How would she open her door? With a tight grip? Would she crack it open, or swing it wide fucking open? Jesus, the image of gripping and thrusting tore through him with a primal need. All that from just staring at her door.

This was madness.

He swallowed his lust and blew out another calming breath. Inhaling, his nostrils flared. His body hardened even more. Dorian picked up the slightest hint of sweet cherries, which was the first thing he’d been able to smell in three fucking days.

Lena… She smelled like cherry blossoms. Lena… He chanted her name in his mind just so he had something to latch onto as the rest of him unraveled into more and more of an unpredictable, dying beast. Running his finger across the peephole, he wasn’t sure what to do. Knock or—

He needed to leave. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t just bang down her door and demand she become his mate. And there was still the little detail about turning her into a vampire to contend with.

No. She was too young and vibrant and had her whole life ahead of her. Even if she was miserable with her life, that was still a better situation than becoming an immortal bound to a piece of shit like him.

It was simple, quiet, and peaceful here. This was her home.

Dorian’s world was cutthroat, vindictive and depraved.

He couldn’t force her into that—not with his charm, his desperation, or his depressing curse. He refused to do that to her. It wasn’t fair. Numbly, he took a step back. Then another. Aaannnd another.

Even her house looked like heaven. All sweet flowers and bright, cheery colors. His house was like a cell block—grey, white, black. Cold. Bet she had fifteen throw pillows on her bed, and ten more on her couch. Probably had a bowl of perfectly ripe fruit on her kitchen counter.

He had blades on his.

Yeah… this was a really bad fucking idea. His lungs tightened with shame and regret. His body tensed, fighting itself. This was wrong… so fucking wrong.

Holding his breath to keep from smelling her sweet, fruity scent again—a torture he couldn’t stand any longer—Dorian backed off the porch and stumbled on the petunia-lined walkway. Biting his lip hard, he let the blood well and swallowed it as he slid back into the Uber and asked to be brought back to his Airbnb.

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