Page 28 of The Fire Went Wild

Not disgust.

Notdisgust, which was all I had gotten from the last living girl I tried to kiss. Five years ago. I don’t even remember her name. But we had kissed in a motel room and she had seen what I was, even though I wasn’t going to kill her. My gods didn’t want her. The only one who wanted her was me.

It wasn’t reciprocated. It never is, with living girls. They know I’m a predator—even more of a predator than a human man. And they react like prey.

It’s strange how Charlotte is different. Maybe because I’m not trying to hide anything.

“You could have just passed me the joint,” she says, jerking me out of my thoughts.

“Where’s the fun in that?” My response startles me—how quickly I let it out. How my voice curves up like I’m flirting.

Charlotte’s response startles me, too, the way she tamps down a smile. Like she doesn’t want me to know she finds me charming.

Then she says, “You’re not what I would expect from a serial killer.”

I jolt, the wordsserial killersearing through my skin. “I’m not a serial killer,” I say sharply.

She laughs coldly. “You have corpses in your living room.”

“That’s a parlor. And those are offerings.”

“Are they or are they not corpses?”

I don’t answer. A human woman like her won’t understand.

“Did you not kill them?” she asks, arching up an eyebrow. Her fear has sharpened. She’s terrified, asking me this, but she’s doing it anyway, and that makes my chest feel kind of warm and tight, almost like something’s hugging my heart.

I scowl. “What I did to them is beyond killing.”

“Sounds like something a serial killer would say.”

“I’m a Hunter,” I snap.

“Sorry,” she says. “A serialhunter, then.” As strong as her fear scent is, there’s a kind of dancing light in her eyes that belies it. I can’t decide if that’s her mask or not.

“No,” I say darkly. “A serial killer is something a human becomes. I’m not human.”

“Then what are you?” She doesn’t believe me, that much is clear. She thinks I’m delusional, that I’m some human psychopath who thinks he’s better than his equals. “Or is that not the right question?”

“The question is fine,” I say stiffly. “And I’ve already answered it. I’m a Hunter.” I stand up, moving more quickly than I really need to. Quickly enough that her fear spikes and I hear her fast, frantic pulse through the quiet of the den.

“What’s a Hunter, then?” She looks up at me. Fearful. Expectant. I want to kiss her for real. I want to do so much more than that, too.

“We’re the ones who stalk your nightmares,” I tell her, which is the explanation my father gave me a long, long time ago when I was a little boy and hadn’t yet killed anyone. I grab Charlotte by the wrist and yank her to her feet. She doesn’t resist, but there’s a slackness in her body, like a rag doll. She’s stoned. A little drunk.

“That tells me nothing,” she says, but I only shrug and drag her back upstairs.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JAXON

Ibury my nose in Charlotte’s dirty underwear, breathing in her scent as I fist my cock, my grip strong enough to be painful, the way I want it sometimes. The way I want it when I need to remind myself that I’m too much of a monster to fuck a living woman.

I lean back in my bed, thrusting up into my hand, smothering myself in the soft, pungent silk of Charlotte’s panties. She’s quiet in her room, but I just keep picturing her at dinner, skin luminous in the soft chandelier light, her hair blazing like a fire, her plush body filling out that yellow dress in a way that revealed everything underneath the fabric.

My cock convulses in my palm, and I groan and squeeze it even harder, hard enough that I’m abusing it more than I’m actually jerking off. It fucking hurts, but it feels good too, that pain bursting behind my eyes like starlight. Charlotte’s scent threatens to drown me—her sweat and her arousal, all those reminders that she’s alive trapped in the silk.

I groan as I release, white ribbons of cum spurting across my fingers and beading across my lower belly. The pleasure lingers,though, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Especially with her underwear still draped across my face.

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