Page 57 of The Dead Saint

More than anything, she wanted something to drive it all away—to silence the ringing and drive it from her mind. She wanted to be held. She sucked in a sharp breath, overtaken by the sudden desire to have someone pull her into their arms. She wanted someone to kiss away the sobs that threatened to rise from her chest in an unstoppable storm.

She wanted Adrian.

“Sorcha.” When she turned, he held out his black cloak, light sliding across the surface of the silver wolf clasp. “Take this.”

The clothes she wore, what little remained, were plastered to her skin—every line of her body visible. Adrian stepped forward when she didn’t move, shaking out the cloak and sweeping it around her shoulders. The action stopped her shivering, the cold of her skin heating suddenly at his nearness. His black-gloved hand brushed her skin, and more warmth radiated outward from his light touch.

Holding her breath, Sorcha reached out and placed her hand flat on his chest. She kept her gaze on her fingers, her skin wrinkled after being submerged for so long. Beneath her palm, his chest rose and fell, and his heart was pounding. Slowly, she raised her eyes, caught on his perfect mouth and the muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.

Desire uncoiled in her stomach, spreading greedy tendrils through her body, warming her breasts and lower belly. Death and desire. She’d seen how people reacted to it. Remembered how she’d reacted in the past. The urge to feel alive when others were gone, when faced with mortality. Any second, she could die—she almost had—but right now, she was alive. And Adrian wanted her—she knew it in her heart—and with each breath he took, he was that much closer to giving in.

Did she want him, or did she just want to feel alive? She let out a breath and curled her fingers into his black tunic, remembering the clean lines of his body, the muscles and scars. Pulling in a shaky breath, she stepped closer, aware of where their bodies touched, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” he asked, the question low.

He didn’t move, hands loose at his sides. But he breathed raggedly, and she imagined he leaned into her touch.

Sorcha met his gaze, seeing nothing but the careful expression he wore. Disinterest or disdain, she couldn’t be sure which. No warmth. No answering desire. His jaw was clenched, lips thinning as she watched.

He didn’t want her.

She removed her hand and stepped back on shaky legs. She’d been so sure before. Now she felt like a fool for crossing every boundary she had to touch a man she despised. She did despise him, didn’t she? Emotions coursed through her. She hated him. Loathed him. Feared him. Wanted nothing at all to do with him. And yet, she’d been the one to reach out, to touch him. To want him.

“I don’t know why I did that,” she said, heart racing.

“You’ve called me a monster.” Adrian’s voice was soft, his eyes half-lidded now, jaw unclenched.

“You are.” Her words were firm, but beneath them lay a shadow of another emotion—did he sense it? She felt as if it were written all over her face.

When you look at me, I see fire in your eyes.

And I want to burn.

* * *

Sorcha took another step back, slipping on the edge of the cloak before turning toward the distant camp. Adrian could see Domenico and Thompson sitting near the fire with their backs to them. Magnus and Ivo were with the horses. The others were out of sight in their tents or hunting. There was no sign of Revenant.

Adrian clenched his hands at his sides, the leather gloves stretching tight over his knuckles. Slowly, he released his grip, focused on the woman walking away from him. Sorcha.

If he said her name, would that tentative expression return? Had she known what she was asking? The silent question between them, had she realized what she’d offered? He couldn’t want her. Couldn’t even let himself think about it. About the warmth of her beneath him, her sighs in his mouth, the moment he could consume every inch of her skin.

If he didn’t scare her, she would touch him again, and then he would never be able to say no. Without thinking, Adrian closed the distance between them. He came up behind her and slipped an arm around her waist, jerking her back into his body. She was delicate, shivering as he ran a gloved hand up her neck to tilt her head back against his chest. He lowered his mouth to her ear, brushing his lips against her soft skin, and breathed her in—damp and cold, a woman made of water and winter in his arms. He exhaled, enjoying the way she trembled, his body stirring with desire.

“Is this what you want, Sorcha? A monster in your bed?” She didn’t move, rigid in his arms now. He stroked her throat, tilting her head to the side, exposing more tender flesh. He lowered his voice, tightness filling his groin, each breath coming more quickly. “Between your thighs?”

Sorcha’s heart raced, pulse pounding against his fingers on her throat, the warmth of her seeping through the leather gloves.

Adrian slid the hand gripping her waist up, brushing the swell of one breast, and satisfaction coursed through him when a breathy sigh rushed out of her. It took everything he had not to rip the thin, damp cotton clinging to her breasts and thighs. He wanted to strip her down and kneel before her, wanted her hands to tangle in his hair as he drove her over a cliff and into white-hot release.

But that would be a mistake.

“Go back to camp,” Adrian said, letting her go—turning her loose.

For a moment, she swayed on her feet, head turned a fraction of an inch in his direction.

Go, he thought, willing her to move. Or I won’t give you a choice.

His gut twisted, anger spiking through him. He hated himself for touching what he could never have, for letting desire take control.

---