Page 71 of Cardinal House

I reach down into my boot, gripping the handle of my knife and throw myself forward. The two of us tumbling directly into the double doors he was so adamant about guarding, and stab my blade into his upper spine, directly between his shoulder blades.

His eyes go wide, the heel of my other hand jabbing him in the throat, and then his lips part as I tear out my knife, stab it back in, again and again in quick succession. Pushing it as deep as it’ll go until my hand is slippery and wet with warmth, and a breath coughs up his throat, blood spraying my face as he splutters. I shove him away from me, rolling his body off of mine with a thud.

Throwing myself into standing, I bend down to retrieve the discarded gun, yanking out the magazine and counting the seven bullets. I’m only gunna need one. Shoving it into the back of my jeans, I turn, facing the doors, taking one solid breath, my shoulders heaving, I grab hold of the handles, shove them down and thrust open the doors into the room.

My entire body is heaving up and down with my breaths as her name bellows out of my throat. Blood is dripping down my face, my hair wet with blood, my white t-shirt stained red, but nothing could ever distract from the fact that the man before me, squeezing my beautiful Luna’s pretty face, a nasty split in her lip, holding a gun to her temple, is going to die.

“I might not have killed her properly the first time, but I can tell you one thing,” Nolan snarls, “I won’t miss a second.”

Even though my every hackle is raised, every instinct demands that I shoot him now, end all of this, save her, take her into my arms and kiss her better, I laugh.

It’s a wild, throaty, psychotic sound that tears its way up my tonsils, barking free of my tongue. I shake my head, my body juddery and full of energy, a wolf pacing before an attack.

“You could shoot her,” I shrug, “or you could shoot me and keep her.”

It’s all I say, holding my arms out at my sides, watching as he checks my hands for a weapon. This man’s not a fighter, he’s an overconfident moron. I can work with that.

“She’s already mine,” he spits at me, flicking his gaze up from my drenched boots to my crimson painted t-shirt, claw marks bleeding down his cheeks, his eye, it makes me want to smile.

“Not anymore, you threw her away.”

“I thought she was dead!” he screams at me, his entire body shaking. “Those morons!” he shouts. “Can’t do anything right, they were supposed to get rid of her body so even you and your filthy crew of mutts couldn’t get your bloody hands on her.”

He’s a good looking guy, dressed well, neat beard, styled hair, money, that’s what that is, a disguise paid for with blood.

“You think I fuck corpses?” I snort casually, wanting to glance at Luna, because even like this, that sentence I use mockingly to taunt, makes me think of treating her exactly like that, before taking her virginity on the fucking morgue slab.

Blood rushes to my cock, even in a situation like this, and I lick my lips.

Fuck, I love you, Little Moon.

“I think you would,” he spits, snarling his upper lip, “she had to know who she belonged to.”

“So you killed her?” I ask, genuinely trying to understand the logic here. “Why not just lock her up?”

“She wasn’t meant to die, but seeing her on your lap in that hospital,” he huffs out a sharp breath. “Disgusting.”

“So you just… what? Got carried away?” I cock my head, staring at him, his chest heaving, his eyes bulging, his finger not on the trigger.

“It’s none of your fucking business.” He spits then, really spits, bloody saliva onto the floor between us. “Get the fuck out of my house!” he bellows, letting out his rage, and aiming the gun at me.

“Now, Luna!”

That’s when I look at her, pretty and perfect in her summer dress, cropped cardigan, and ballet flats. She blinks, reaching up and over her head, plucking the long sharp needle out from her big, white hair bow and holding my gaze, those big, ice-blue eyes boring into my soul, she stabs it into his neck. The sharpened tip making it slide through his throat like a hot knife through butter.

Nolan chokes, not even managing to fire his weapon at me as Luna yanks out the long pin before driving it right back in again, his hand dropping from her face. When she pulls it out a third time, his body slumping to his knees, blood spurts out in an arc, decorating the wall and spraying her in splatter.

We both run to each other at the same time as the heavy thud of his face colliding with the hardwood echoes around the room.

“Luna,” I breathe.

At the same time, she gasps, “Wolf.”

Our lips mash together, my hands cupping her face, her fists tangling in my t-shirt. Tongues licking, our kiss tasting of blood and victory, I haul her up into my arms, her long legs wrapping around my waist. It’s desperate and raw and violent.

She bites my lip and I suck on her tongue, and we cover each other in blood.

There’s horror and violence, life and death, but above all else, when her lips press to mine, these gentle, urgent kisses, there’s love.

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