Page 180 of The Delta's Rogue
“I also know you enjoyed every second of torture you inflicted on Lennox.”
His dark chuckle sends goosebumps skittering over my skin. “I’ll enjoy killing everyone who hurt you even more than I enjoyed hurting him.”
“Just make sure you leave Amara and Nuncio for me.”
Sebastian tenses, and any amusement in him fades. “What did that sick fuck Nuncio do to you?”
My eyes dart back and forth between his that quickly fill with rage. “You met him?”
“What did he do to you?”
His grip on me stiffens. Pulsing, writhing fury flares to life within the darkness of his aura. His skin ripples, and his claws prick through my leggings and into my flesh.
My heart races. I caress his arms, smoothing across the undulating muscles and the bulging veins, trying to soothe the possessive beast inside him.
“If I tell you, I’m afraid you’ll kill him instead of saving him for me.”
“Sarina…” He growls my name in warning. “This isn’t a joke.”
“I never said it was.”
“Did he touch you?” he demands. “Did. He. Touch. You?”
He leans in closer with every word. His chest heaves, and his lycan sits shotgun in his mind, both of them in control of his possessiveness and his actions.
I inhale shakily through my nose. “They’re not supposed to, but he did.” My eyes close, and I squeeze them tighter as the memory of my capture plays on repeat in my mind—the feel of Nuncio’s damp, hot breath, the scent of alcohol and cigarettes on his tongue, and the unwanted advances of his grubby, wandering hands. “He’s the one who captured me, and he…”
Sebastian wraps his arms around me as the choking, clawing fear scrambles up my throat. I tremble in his embrace, and he tugs me closer, cupping the back of my head with his massive palm.
I strain against the fear, but Sebastian keeps me grounded in the present, swaying us side to side.
“You don’t have to tell me what he did,” he murmurs. “All that matters is that he touched you—hehurtyou. And I will let you kill him,” he promises. “After I rip his dick off and shove it down his throat.”
It’s a near moonlessnight. The stars shine brighter, making up for the lack of light. Our attack on the traffickers will happen tomorrow, when it’s a new moon. It seems fitting to end them on the darkest night of the cycle.
Our plans are in place. We’ve reviewed them countless times, until everyone could say them backward and forward and in their sleep.
But tonight, I’m not thinking of battle strategy or coming up with worst-case scenarios and how to counter them. Tonight, there is only one thing on my mind.
I glance over my shoulder from between the partially opened drapes. Sarina exits the bathroom—hair damp, face clean, and dressed in one of my T-shirts. I hold my arm out to her, leaving it hanging in midair so she can join me at the window, tucked safely into my side.
She strolls over to me and settles into the exact spot I wanted, with her arms around my waist, head on my chest, and her body pressed completely against mine. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and play with her hair, brushing the strands away from her neck and scars.
My gaze lingers there. On Sarina’s neck. Her pulse flutters beneath the skin. It’s strongest in that place where my canines will pierce her flesh when I mark her as my mate forever.
I want that night to be tonight. For so many reasons, I want that night to be tonight, and none of them have anything to do with fulfilling my own baser needs. But otherthan our one moment after my shower earlier this week, she hasn’t initiated any further intimacy with me.
I’m terrified I pushed her too far, that what we did hurt her more than it healed her, so I haven’t attempted to start anything or take anything further than sweet kisses, tender embraces, and keeping her within the safety of my arms all night long.
My hand strokes from the ends of her hair down her spine, and she lifts her chin, rising on her toes to place her lips on mine. My palm flattens against the small of her back to bring her closer to me, so all of her is touching all of me and there’s no room for anything between our bodies.
But the kiss ends all too soon. She lowers her heels to the floor and leans away, scanning my face as I don’t let her move any further from me—not that she tries.
“You’re worried,” she says.
I tighten my arms around her as my response. I can’t speak. If I open my mouth, I may suggest something I regret, something she may not be ready for.
“I’m worried too,” she replies to my unspoken reply. Her heart picks up its pace, and her tongue parts the seam of her lips. “I had a thought…”
