Page 49 of Waltzing With Witches

“I know,” I whisper.

“How long do you have?” Tears fill her eyes again.

“I have no idea,” I admit. “According to Moira, it should have killed me long ago.”

A tear slides down Morgan’s cheek. “I need to speak with her immediately.”

I understand the reaction. I searched high and low for information once I realized the extent of what my injury meant. But no cure or answer exists. And Morgan might have to learn that through her own research.

“Moira is staying with Celset outside Shifter Hollow if you’d like to visit her,” I offer. “But for what it’s worth, most infected simply decline for a time before they go.” I gesture at my powerful frame. “I look pretty okay, for now.”

Morgan huffs. “This isn’t a joke, Keeper.”

“Abe,” I correct softly. “My real name is Abe. Short for Abemet, a combination of my fathers’ names.”

Her mouth drops open, then closes. More tears slide down her cheeks. I step forward and brush them all away, cradling her face in my hands.

“You are everything I ever wanted,” I whisper, long-withheld emotions getting the better of me. “I was an asshole to protect you from all of these horrible secrets. I hoped you’d be happier without them to weigh you down. I”—my voice breaks—“I thought I was shielding you from that pain. I wanted to shoulder that burden so you didn’t have to. I…” My voice trails off, blood tears streaking down my face to drip from my chin.

Her tears come faster.

“Kiss me,” she whispers instead. “I want to remember that night.”

Shock fills me, followed by a surge of lust, even though thinking about the night we met sends a dagger through my chest, stealing my breath.

“I can’t,” I mutter, brushing a thumb over her plump lips.

“You can,” she demands, pressing her body hard to mine.

I’m lost, then, because when she was simply mad at me, it was easier to handle. But instead of pushing me away like she should, she wants a kiss.

Lost.

Lost.

Lost.

I bring my face closer to hers, hovering my mouth above her lips. They part for me, her body sinking against mine. Her eyes close, her body soft. Sliding one hand up her shirt in the back, I rest my palm between her shoulder blades against miles of soft skin.

“So fucking soft,” I murmur into her lips. “Just like I remember.”

“Abe,” she whispers. Hearing my preferred name fall from those beautiful plush lips undoes me.

I slant my mouth over hers with a slow, gentle swipe. Electric energy barrels down my spine, pooling between my thighs. Running my left hand up her cheek, I fist it in her beautiful hair and crush her to my body. The next pass of my lips over hers is harder, rougher. When she slips her tongue into my mouth, I curl mine around it and suck.

Morgan’s answering groan sends explosive energy rushing through me, goose bumps rising along my skin, my fangs lengthening. But I have to be so careful not to cut her or nick her with them.

Urgency screams at me to remember my Keeper rules, to remember my logic.

But a needy swipe of her tongue along mine banishes all rational thought. Her lips grow demanding, her arms coming around my neck as she shoves up onto her tiptoes.

With great effort, I retract my fangs, and then I devour her. Our lips clash together in a wild frenzy of kinetic need. Sucking, lapping, biting. I’m lost to her taste, her scent. Dragging her head farther back, I nip and kiss my way down her chin to her neck, tasting every inch of that beautiful pale skin.

She groans in my arms, her body smashed as close to mine as she can get.

My fangs threaten to burst from my gums with every pass of my mouth over her neck. Morgan’s a live wire in my arms, moaning softly, her neck bared completely to me. Nothing has ever turned me on this much. Nothing has ever been as beautiful as my mate offering herself so completely for my bite.

Does she even realize what it looks like to me for her head to fall back the way it does?

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