Page 39 of Dark Awakening

A door creaks open, and a tall figure enters, face obscured in shadow. Fear and excitement spike as he approaches unhurriedly. I know those broad shoulders and that self-assured gait.

"What do you want from me?" I demand, willing my voice not to shake.

He stops before me, still maddeningly hidden in darkness.

"Isn't it obvious, my spirited one?" His voice sends a tremor through me. "I want you."

Before I can respond, he grasps my wrist, drawing me against his solid chest. My breaths come faster. His fingers trail down my neck teasingly as I stand frozen, paralyzed by conflicting impulses to flee or surrender.

"We've only scratched the surface," he purrs cryptically in my ear. "What we could unleash together..."

His lips graze my neck, and a gasp escapes me. He chuckles knowingly at my body's instinctive reaction, tracing my rapid pulse.

"I know you feel our connection. Stop denying it."

With that, his mouth claims mine, fierce and hungry. The kiss steals my breath and scatters all rational thought. I cling to him helplessly as we sink into shadowy passion...

I wake with a start, my body flushed and my heart pounding. Wiping sweat from my brow, I see it's two o'clock—I've only been asleep for an hour.

Frustrated, I flip over angrily, punching my pillows with vigor. Damn, this man for invading even my dreams!

Closing my eyes, I will myself to sleep again without his presence haunting me. Yet slumber evades me as I toss and turn restlessly.

Sighing, I kick off the tangled sheets and sit up, flipping on the bedside lamp. Shadows dance across the room. I half expect to see him lurking in the darkness.

But I'm alone with only my churning thoughts for company. Running my hands through my tousled hair, I try to shake off the vivid dream.

Get it together. I won't let him undermine my sanity like this. He's just a man, not some mythical monster.

I rise and head to the kitchen for a glass of water. The cool liquid soothes my raw nerves. Gripping the counter, I take deep breaths, attempting to calm my racing heart.

You have the power here. Don't relinquish it to fear and shadows. This infatuation ends now before it consumes me.

Feeling emboldened, I crawl back into bed. No more haunted dreams tonight. I have my life firmly in hand. His hold over me is broken.

Let him lurk out there in the darkness. Tomorrow, I'll take action to shake loose his grasp for good. The authorities can deal with this menace.

Tomorrow, I will reclaim my power. Tonight, I rest easy.

Rhyland

23

Nursing my scotch, the amber liquid barely distracts me from the disturbing pattern emerging on the streets. Another one gone—third this week. It's gotta be Azrael. My gut twists at the thought. Him joining forces with Moretemis? That's the kind of shit that could turn the tides in a bad fucking way.

I put in a call to the council, laying out my hunch that Azrael is in deep with the enemy. Killian’s voice crackles with urgency when I tell him. "Are you certain?" he demands.

"Not yet, but my instincts are screaming at me," I retort, knowing that we need something solid to nail the bastard. Killian's on my back for quick action and updates.

Then Eva brings up the mortal. Thoughts of Danica fill my mind— I can't give away how deep under my skin she's gotten. "I'm on it," I deflect with irritation.

Killian's growl of frustration buzzes in my ear. "You've accomplished nothing so far! We're running out of time." The concern in his voice scrapes against my already frayed patience.

"I'll get the proof we need on Azrael. Then you'll hear from me," I say through gritted teeth, ending the call with a stab on the screen.

Left with my scotch and brooding thoughts, Danica's image refuses to fade. Respected geneticist, her brains, hell, her whole damn package captivates me. The more I learn about her achievements—her youth, the deeper the intrigue digs in.

I feel like a man on the edge, tugged between the need to explore every layer of this woman and the terror of what that means. Feelings I've long buried are clawing their way out—a maelstrom of desire and fear that's fucking torturous.

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