Page 18 of Savage Claim

Heat spilled into my cheeks as I jumped onto the desk. “You don’t know shit, Logan.”

After Ruin quickly pricked my arm with a needle and collected a small sample of blood, he pulled out a tiny glass bottle and shook it. “Now for the soul.”

Ruin sipping on my soul felt nothing like other demons ripping it out. The act was pleasurable, almost sinful, and I could see why humans flocked to his club to get a taste of that high. Logan could probably do the same. I doubted either one of them had a dissatisfied partner.

Ruin’s fingers curled around the back of my neck, and he drew me toward his lips as his head lowered. A hot sensation swirled low in my belly, and soon, a white mist seeped out of my mouth. The demon lord breathed deeply to take my soul in, his lips barely brushing over mine.

Fiery tingles radiated down my back, and I couldn’t help but lean into him, the desire coursing through my veins taking over. The tiny voice of reason in my head kept me from fully kissing him.

He reluctantly stopped the flow of my soul and lifted the little bottle, draining the white mist into it while his electric-blue eyes smoldered into mine. If I showed the tiniest amount of interest, he’d go for it. Ruin had made it clear that he wanted me, and not even my bond with Fane would stop him—if I reciprocated.

A tingle in my neck registered just as Logan’s laughter echoed. And then Ruin was ripped away, a huge fist crashing into his cheek.

I gasped as the demon lord hit the ground, black blood bursting from his lip as Fane stood over him, rage pouring off him in thick, choking waves.

“What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?” The growl that curled out of Fane could probably be heard within half the compound.

Chapter

Seven

Ruin wiped the blood off his face, and then his head tilted back, laughter erupting through the archives. “Looks like someone’s jealous. Good for you, Mav. You’re finally admitting that you’d rather kill anyone that touches Tate than actually kill her.”

Fane vibrated as a warning snarl crawled up his throat. “What are you doing?” he repeated.

My heart thumped when he didn’t deny the demon lord’s words.

I hopped from the table and tossed Ruin the cork to the vial. “He came for a sample.” My hand rested on Fane’s taut back. “Relax. Nothing happened.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.” The demon shifter turned to me, gripped my neck, and dragged his thumb over my lips as if to rub away Ruin’s barely-there touch. His mismatched eyes burned into mine, the heated look setting me on fire a hundred times more than Ruin’s little soul sip had.

“Aw, look at the two lovebirds gazing into each other’s eyes.” Logan patted Fane’s shoulder. “I think they’re going to kiss.”

Fane released me but remained close enough that his body heat wrapped me like a blanket. “Stop instigating shit, Logan.”

“I can’t instigate shit if there isn’t shit already there to instigate.” The high demon gave a boyish grin.

My pulse spiked, and tingles rippled down my spine. They’d spoken the same words to each other one day in Logan’s apartment when Fane returned to find us sparring. And flirting.

Was Fane remembering?

I shook the thought off before I got my hopes up. The two had been friends for years and probably said similar things to each other all the time.

Ruin climbed to his feet and corked the bottle, slipping it into his pocket. “The bond with Tate is obviously fighting against Kaspin’s spell. Don’t you think things would be easier without that pesky enchantment? We could try to break it without the old, wrinkled prick, and if that doesn’t work, I’m sure we could locate him.”

The demon shifter’s mouth thinned into a white line. “I’m not letting witches poke around in my head to break this spell. I’d rather keep it.”

It would hurt less if he’d punched me in the chest and shattered a rib. Fane actually flinched from the pain his words caused, feeling it through our link. He opened his mouth, but I shoved him back before he could get one word out and marched toward the door.

“You’re such an asshole,” I muttered loud enough for him to hear.

“Tate, don’t go,” Logan called out. “He’s sorry. Tell her you’re sorry, Fane.”

He wasn’t, though. Fane didn’t really give a damn about me. If he did, he’d break the spell. Instead, he’d rather keep the distance between us and battle the urge to kill me.

Dying would be easier than having my heart stomped on every day. I needed a break from him and all of this bullshit. I needed to get out of there.

Classic rock from the jukebox filled the small dive bar, mixing with the crash of pool balls and laughter. I waved at the bartender from my spot at the bar, huddled in the corner. No one noticed me except him, probably because I’d already flagged him down five times.

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