Page 76 of Fallen Omega

And Reaper? This is a dance on the wild and dark side. It’s blood. It’s death. It’s pure lust and life.

I want him to chase me. Take me, drag me screaming into whatever he might want to do. I want his teeth on me, I want his mouth.

I’m connected to all of them and it’s like I instinctively speak their language, like a part of me rises to each of them and it doesn’t make a lick of sense.

They all fascinate me. But with Knight it’s comfort. Dante is sparks, fire, hurdles. Reaper is…untold and unexplored highs and lows. He fascinates me.

What the hell am I doing? Waxing lyrical over the alphas of an outlaw pack who kidnapped me and dropped me home with a fuck you very much? All before being yanked to a strange apartment somewhere else?

I don’t even know what this is.

What I’m going to do is go back, let myself in the apartment, and pretend I didn’t leave.

I move as quietly as I can to the door. I slide out and stand, looking around.

I’m not alone.

It’s in my blood and sinew.

I sniff the air and with the slight breeze that’s sprung up, I smell the brine of the water, the must of disuse behind me, and the regular city stench the light breeze carries along.

No one’s here, at least I don’t think they are, so I start to turn back to the building where Reaper put me.

Something makes me stop.

And my breath stops in my throat as my chest tightens.

A man steps from the shadows. Like he’s appearing by magic.

The lone street lamp showers him in yellow light as his shorn dark head tilts and he looks at me. I can’t see the obsidian eyes, but I feel them piercing into me.

His face is worthy of a painting in a chapel, or my wall as agirl. The light catches the scars and instead of the faint red lines, they seem to glow.

I drink them in. All of his beauty. The slightly curved scar running from his right eye to the corner of his lips. There’s one slashing up from his throat’s corner near his ear, moving across his lower right cheek to the other side of his chin. A cut over his nose that stops close to the right eye and the left side.

Just one more scar.

A jagged, violent thing starting low and runs up to the middle of the orbital bone, and then continues through his brow to an inch above it.

He watches me impassively. Not angry. Not lustful—no there’s lust. It makes his eyes shine dark. A current runs through him, so vibrant it lights me up and I’m about twelve or so feet away, runs through him.

Reaper doesn’t move.

All he does is say one word.

“Run.”

With a small shriek, I turn and take off, running hard. He’s behind me, his scent’s all over me, surrounding me as I dart in and out of buildings and over the road.

My body’s alive, more alive than it’s ever been.

Every time I turn, Reaper isn’t there.

I want to see him, get caught, eaten, but it has to be clean. Not a cheat. When he said run, he meant for my life, and the adrenaline pounds as I pump my arms.

I run for my life.

Reaper is pacing himself. I can feel it. Thick in the air, clogging my lungs. I turn and yell. An animal howl of sound.

---