Page 136 of Rage

Her claws rest against his chest, and for a moment, he thinks she’ll push him away. But then, slowly, hesitantly, her fingers relax, sliding up to his shoulder.

When their lips meet, it’s tentative at first—a question asked and answered. But as the moment deepens, so does the kiss, transforming from a gentle brush into something hungry and desperate, a collision of two souls both aching and afraid.

Her magick hums in the air, mingling with the crackling energy of the manor, and Steele feels it wrapping around them, binding them together in a way that feels fated and unbreakable.

Steele pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against hers. Her claws tremble against his shoulder, and for a moment, the silence between them feels sacred, a fragile thing neither wants to shatter.

But then, her gaze flickers, and she looks away, her expression haunted.

“I don’t remember who I used to be,” she says quietly, her voice raw, as if the words are being torn from some hidden part of her. “Not really. Bits and pieces, sure—a laugh, a feeling, the way sunlight felt on my skin. But the details?” She shakes her head, her claws curling into the fabric of his shirt. “They’re gone.”

Steele studies her, his heart clenching. He wants to ask, but the weight in her voice tells him to let her speak on her terms.

“Edmund… the manor… they remind me of my life before. A life I’ve spent years trying to forget.” She exhales sharply, the sound almost a growl. “I’ve fought so hard to let go of who I was because it doesn’t matter anymore. Not in this place. Not in this form.”

“But why let go?” he asks gently, his fingers brushing against her cheek. “Wouldn’t it be better to hold on to those pieces of yourself?”

Her laugh is bitter, almost mocking. “You don’t understand. Those pieces—they’re broken. Jagged. Every time I reach for them, they cut me to shreds. It’s easier to just… exist. To be this.” She gestures to herself, the beastly form that still shadows her true visage in his mind’s eye. “This is all I have left now. The beast. The anger. The solitude.”

Steele’s thumb traces her jawline, his touch steady despite the storm of emotions raging between them. “I don’t think that’s all you have left,” he says softly. “Not from what I’ve seen. Not from what I’ve felt.”

Her eyes meet his, and for a moment, he thinks she might push him away again. But instead, she whispers, “You don’t know the things I’ve done, Steele. The mistakes. The choices that led me here.”

“Then tell me,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “I’m not afraid of who you were. And I’m not afraid of who you are now.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. Instead, a single tear escapes, glinting like starlight against her caramel skin before slipping down into the fur of her beastly form. Steele catches it with his thumb, his touch gentle, reverent.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” he whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “Not with me. For the raindrop to join the rivers and oceans and become one with the earth again, it must first yield to the fall.”

And with that, she falls.

She shatters.

She breaks.

He can feel her coming undone in his arms, unraveling before him with such ferocity that embers dance in the electric air around them.

Chapter Nine

Reverie

Ihave no idea what's come over me—or him, for that matter—because the way he's kissing me is more like he's making out with the most beautiful woman in the world.

The way he grabs the side of my face, like it's not laced with fur, and strokes my tongue with his like it's not being threatened to be sliced down the middle by my fangs.

When his hands trace stars around my scars, I gasp, and his rough, calloused hands find my breasts, rolling my pebbled nipple between his thumb and finger, creating a shudder that just won't stop.

He tucks a fall of inky locks behind my ear and mouths my neck, biting into my skin like it's not covered in fur, sending electric waves of glowing ghosts down my entire body.

He rips my tattered dress and throws it to the floor, peppering kisses down my body until he reaches my naval.

Even in my regular form, I wasn't a skinny girl—from what I can recall—but he sees no obstacles in my curves, treating my body as a treasure map he's destined to explore like it's his destiny to lay claim to my scars and map the constellations of my pain with his mouth.

As he dips lower to my clit, he looks up at me, the extended sharp features of his severe against my naked body. He looks like someone about to devour a four-course meal after being starved for days.

I taste smoke at the back of my throat as he tongue kisses my pussy, making me clench the cushions of the couch enough to rip into them, sending feathers flying into the air.

The gravelly moan crawling up his throat withers my mind to compost, the sort where bad decisions go to sprout. He adds fingers to his lustful meal, and I arch my back as I climb to the sun.

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