Page 41 of Bad Demon

“Whoa.”

He shoved them down so he was standing in only a pair of black boxer briefs, which hugged his monster thighs, muscled ass, and the intimidating bulge at the front.

“You can’t sleep with me.”

He ignored me, rounded the bed, and got in. “Not trying to fuck you, Fern. I was awake all night last night. Yes, I am fucking superior in all ways, but I still need sleep, and I won’t get it on your couch.”

“You’re too big. You’re taking up all the room.” I jerked away. “Did you just touch me?”

“Hard not to in this tiny fucking bed. But again, not trying to get all up on you. I just want some sleep.” His golden eyes came to me. “Wouldn’t say no to a hug though.”

“Are you insane?”

“Nope, hounds need contact; we’re tactile. At the clubhouse, I get those needs fulfilled. It’s not me being a creep; it’s a biological need. If I don’t get to be close to someone, I get antsy, then snarly, and then I want to bite something.”

“You can’t be freaking serious right now.” I huffed out a breath. “You’re harder work than an actual dog.”

He shrugged. “Even dogs need to be petted, Fern. Just one hand—”

“I’m not touching your dick,” I shrieked.

His brows lowered. “Did I ask you to touch my dick? Get your head out of the gutter, Tink. I know what I got packing is hard to ignore, but you’re gonna have to try.”

I shoved at his chest, and he grabbed my hand and held it there, right over his Devil Dogs MC tattoo, and his lids slid shut for a moment. I tried to pull away, and his eyes opened.

“That’s all I need. Just that—your hand on my chest—and I’m good. You’re forcing me to be here, Fern, so you gotta help me out.”

What had I gotten myself into?

“Fine, but my knife is right beside the bed. You try anything during the night, I’ll stab you—repeatedly.”

His eyes closed. “Sounds good.” His voice was husky, like he was blissed out and on the verge of sleep already.

I rolled away to turn off the lamp, and he growled.

“I’m just turning off the light,” I bit out.

It went out before I could even flick the switch.

“Did you do that?”

“Yes.”

“You have powers?”

“Yes.”

“What else can you do?”

“Burn shit, pick up shit and throw it around, you know, manipulate things, move stuff, bend it.” He shrugged. “Lots of things. Not just the hound stuff.”

“What’s the hound stuff?”

“Best trackers in existence, obviously. See in the dark, hear really fucking well, fight really fucking well, heal really fucking fast, and we got poison-tipped claws.”

I stared at him, kind of shocked. I knew some of the hound stuff, but I had no idea about the other powers.

“Hand, Fern,” he muttered.

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