Page 10 of Devil on the Lake

Her attempts to remain silent end with a fierce yell from her as she charges past me from her hiding spot. I claw at her, snatching her lace sleeve of the hot as hell bodice she has on. It rips and a desperate cry leaves her.

“No!” Willow swings around and kicks me in the shin before running again.

Chest vibrating with a growl, I change directions, heading her off by taking a towpath to the head of the trail she’s on. When I cut her off, she skids to a stop.

Her makeup is smeared in black streaks down her cheeks from tears, cheeks pink in the faint moonlight from exertion. Survival instinct at its most primal. It’s fucking gorgeous.

The urge to kiss her has me in a chokehold. I picture what I want so clearly—how I’d pin her to the dead leaves and claim those crimson lips. Arousal rockets through me.

Fuck.

I want her. I want all of her.

Willow backs up a step, hands up. My mouth curves and I match her step for step.

Sorry, baby. There’s no way out of this.

I charge forward and she curses. She’s not fast enough this time, and I’m playing seriously now. My arms lock around her waist from behind.

“Get off!”

Her elbows and nails rain hell on me, but I keep a tight grip on her. All she manages is to rip off my mask. It falls to the ground.

“Caught you,” I growl in her ear. “All fucking mine, now.”

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll kill you, asshole! You’re insane for doing this!”

We stumble around as we fight—me to hold on and her to break free. She almost gets away, gaining enough leverage to slap me hard. My cheek burns with phantom tingles as I gather her to me again.

“I’m not letting you go.”

“Dante, you’re crazy!”

In the struggle, I don’t realize how close we are to the bucket trap until we trip the wire. Most of the fake blood lands on me and the momentary shock gives her the chance to push away. She trips over her torn skirt, falling to her knees.

Willow looks like a goddamn mess. Her legs are spattered with red between her fishnets and some of it smeared across her chest. My mouth waters with the need to clean it off her.

I swipe the blood off myself, leaving my chest streaked with a sticky smear of corn syrup and food dye. It seeps down the side of my face from my matted hair. My eyes land on her as I bring my fingers to my mouth and lick the fake blood off them.

She ruins her one chance to escape because she can’t look away.

FIVE

WILLOW

Lungs burning, clothes torn, and dirt smudged on my hands and knees, I’m frozen on the ground.

An unwanted heat throbs between my legs at the sight of Dante. He looks unhinged with the fake blood smeared over his bare chest beneath the open trench coat, the dark red stickiness oozing down the side of his face from his hair. His face paint is messed up, only a partial image of a skull around his eye and cheek remains.

Then his eyes meet mine and he does the unthinkable. He licks the blood from his fingers. Not a quick suck to clean BBQ sauce, this asshole brings every dirty fantasy I’ve had about Billy Loomis to life by curling his tongue around his long fingers obscenely.

It’s hot. Unfairly hot. Disturbingly hot.

And I can’t take my eyes off him.

The air between us crackles with an intense sizzle. It’s a mix of our adrenaline and the inescapable connection we share that makes it impossible to ignore each other.

“You still gonna run?” He smirks. “Or do you admit defeat?”

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