Page 37 of Burn for Her

This… this wasn’t possible.

For a solid thirty seconds, Dorian stared at the back of her head, her bare back, and her luscious ass until she disappeared around a corner. His feet moved without him being aware that he was closing in on her. He tucked his blade back in its holder at the small of his back as he prowled. All light and sound faded until it was just the woman in the red dress.

His woman.

His mate.

Whatever cruel miracle this was, he couldn’t stop himself from getting closer to her. She stopped at an intersection and stared at her phone. Her long, delicate fingers danced along her cell screen and then she looked up and jogged across the street in a set of killer heels.

How did she move so fast in those things?

She looked beyond incredible. No picture online did this woman justice.

Dorian’s lips peeled back as a hiss slipped between his teeth. Where the fuck was she going, dripped in sinful promises like that? If she had a dinner date, Dorian would kill her companion before appetizers were served. If she was here for business, he wanted know what kind warranted a dress so stunning. If she was here for a girl’s weekend, he’d make sure she stayed safe, and no one came close to touching what was his.

It took tremendous control to keep his distance and follow her, but when she stopped in front of a specific vampire owned hotel and a particular car was already waiting for her, Dorian’s possessive instinct ripped out of him like a Lycan turning wolf.

Oh. Fuck. No. She better not be going where he thought she was going.

It took tremendous effort to not chase that goddamn car down and rip her out of the back seat. Instead, he swallowed his panic and ran, with inhuman speed, back to his own car. He knew where that driver was headed. He just couldn’t fathom that Lena would be going there.

It twisted his insides up.

Part of him demanded he blow every red light and beat her there. The other part of him thought he deserved to watch her go in and disappear behind the heavily guarded gate of that place. He’d given her up… walked away from his chances with her. Lena was doing exactly what he wished for. She was living her life.

But here? Now?

Fuck that. He couldn’t stand the thought. And if chasing after her made him a dumbass or hypocrite or jealous monster with venom in his veins, so fucking be it.

That dress. She was in a red dress. The signature color of a new guest at The Wicked Garden. Red wasn’t the color of passion and sinful pleasures. It was the color of dinner.

Dorian slammed down on the gas pedal and flew down the street.

As requested of her first visit, Lena wore a red dress and entered The Wicked Garden with a little more nervousness than she’d anticipated. Call her paranoid, but she swore someone was watching her.

Probably the ghost of her parents, disapproving of her life choices.

Shaking off the heebie-jeebies, she focused on her endgame. This was it. This was her chance to finally find someone to give her what she craved.

“Good evening, Cherry.” Pain smiled from the door. “Welcome back to The Wicked Garden.”

Her heart beat wildly in her throat as she stepped across the threshold.

“I’ll take this,” Pain said while taking her small purse.

Lena looked down as she smoothed her dress and noticed she’d accidentally kicked some of that damned white powder by the front gate onto her shoe.

“Allow me.” Pain kneeled with an unearthly grace, and gently held her ankle while rubbing his thumb across the dust, brushing it away. “Perfect,” he purred, while gazing up at her and running his large, warm hand up the back of her calf.

“Thank you.”

“Allow me to escort you to your private room.”

She’d debated on one with a window to allow for voyeurism but wasn’t up for that just yet. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be ready to be the star of a peepshow, and until she knew exactly what she was getting into and what all she wanted to try, privacy was the better option for now.

Pain grabbed a black folder from a small table against the wall and discreetly skimmed its contents before escorting Lena to her room. “Your room is just this way.”

Music, not classical, but edgy with dark tones, pumped through the speakers.

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