Page 50 of Legacy of Chaos

She stepped next to him. “Yeah, I said that. I don’t like you—”

“I’m well aware.”

“Yeah? Okay, Mr. Smartypants, are you aware that I’m also incredibly turned on right now?”

She hated that she’d said that, but it was the truth. She didn’t like him, but damn, he was hot. No doubt the lust pheromones he was putting out were to blame for a lot of what she was feeling, but she was also honest enough with herself to know that he was an attractive male no matter what.

And maybe the crush she’d had on him for years wasn’t completely gone. Also, she’d seen how he took care of his employees. He was a dick, for sure, but he wasn’t acompletemonster.

He inhaled, his broad chest expanding and making her wonder how his muscles felt under his soaked shirt.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “I am aware.” His gaze caught hers, holding her captive as he swung around to face her. “I can feel the throb of your pulse against my skin. I can smell the scent of your desire. It’s like hot honey.” His hands formed fists at his sides. “It’s driving me insane.”

Oh. His words drew pictures in her mind, explicit scenes of him kneeling between her legs while she gripped the railing and threw her head back in ecstasy, the wind lashing her skin as his tongue lashed between her legs.

“Then why…?” She paused, giving herself a second to think. Totryto think. The level of arousal she was feeling right now had flipped a primal switch in her brain, and logical thought was losing the battle against her physical needs.

“Why…what?” he asked, the seething anger from earlier rising in his voice again.

“Why aren’t you asking me to help you? You’re dying, Stryke. Why can’t you ask me to save your life? Why aren’t youbeggingme to do it? Hell, I’ve heard your species isn’t aversive to rape, so why aren’t you throwing me down right now and taking me like the lust demon you are?”

He looked taken aback. “Is that what you want?”

Nowshewas taken aback. “No. Hell, no. I’d fight you tooth and nail, and I promise, my species isn’t as delicate as we appear.”

No, her species had learned to fight dirty. They’d had to, since they’d existed for thousands of years without any special gifts. They might as well have been humans. In fact, they had so much in common with humans that they’d bred with them, nearly wiping out their entire race. It wasn’t until the invention of technology that their inherent spellcasting abilities had made themselves known.

“No,” he growled, “you aren’t delicate.” His gaze raked the length of her body, growing hotter and darker. “You’ve stood your ground against me since the first time we met.”

She shivered when his eyes locked with hers. His nostrils flared, and his chest heaved, and for a heart-stopping moment, she thought he might test her resolve to fight.

Then, with a blink and a shake of the head, he tore himself away, panting, his head hanging, his hands gripping the railing so tightly she feared he might crush the piping.

Damn him! Damn him for putting her in a position where she had to save his life. She’d wanted him dead more than once, had wanted him to suffer the way he’d caused so many other people to suffer. Now, she needed to save his arrogant ass because no one would make it off this rig if he was dead.

That’s not the only reason you want to save him.

No, it wasn’t. Part of her wanted him to live because she was angry. Angry that he was giving up the way her mother had after her father died. She couldn’t watch anyone let go like that again.

“Damn it, Stryke! What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you not care whether you live or die?”

He didn’t have to answer. She could see it in his eyes. There was so much pain in them—agony that went beyond the physical symptoms he must be feeling as his needs went unmet. Wrapping one arm around his middle, he doubled over, bracing his shoulder against the railing.

Suddenly, a shadow moved behind him. A shape took form in the mist, a massive, tentacled thing.

Stryke noticed it at the same time. In a jerky but fast motion, he lurched at her, catching her arm and dragging her toward the nearest hatch. The monster came after them, the wet slap of its tentacles on the metal getting louder with every frantic footstep.

They reached the hatchway with a second to spare. Stryke flung them both through and slammed the door on the tip of one of the demon’s black, slimy limbs. A six-inch section of tentacle plopped to the deck as she spun the wheel, locking the hatch.

Outside, the thing screamed.

Terror, anger, and lust ignited, lit by an adrenaline dump for the record books, and she slammed her palm into Stryke’s heaving chest. “You decided to live? Why?”

“I couldn’t let someone else die.”

His words, the rough delivery that hinted at soul-deep trauma, cooled her anger, but that only made more room for arousal.

“So, you’re ready to let me help?”

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