Page 30 of Forgotten Monsters
He slides his thumb up to my palm, his long fingers curled around my knuckles. “A druid, a warlock, a sorcerer…I was born on earth. I’m like you, lass. With less self-importance, a wee bit more sense, and a ton more experience.”
“Fuck you.” I wrench my hand away. “You’re no warlock. You’re immortal.”
His soft chuckle caresses my cheek, “Like I said, I’m a druid. We do things a bit differently.”
“You sell your soul for power, you mean?”
His gaze sharpens with a dangerous, but inviting, edge. “I can take ye through the mists to find your dad. If ye want.”
“Right… And what do you want in return?” I ask.
A crossroad devil always bargains for better than he’s due.My father used to tell us tales about the Underworld. Now that I know he really went there, I figure they were more than children's stories meant to keep us in line.
The Scot’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Let me taste ye.”
I shouldn’t.
But his proximity flips my stomach, and electricity buzzes through my veins.
He strokes the side of my face with his rough thumb. “Feed me your rage, lass. Let me ease yer soul.”
I crush my mouth to his, a kiss a simple price to pay to dry up the well of self-loathing imprisoning me.
Every single brush of his tongue soothes me.
After a few seconds in his arms, I canrememberwhy I’m ruined, but I can no longerfeelit. Barron delivers me from myself with his corruptive peace, and I sink my nails into his neck, eager to find out how much solace his wicked mouth can bring.
He tastes of cloves and cinnamon. Ash and fire and thorns.
A squeeze in my belly softens my knees, but Barron catches my fall, his large hands gripping my waist with a ferocity that unravels me. I slip my fingers under his cotton shirt, eager to feel the ridges and grooves of his chest. His tattoos buzz with energy, and the ink smudges under my fingers, cool and fresh.
I tear myself away and press the back of my hand over my bruised lips. “You’re a pain junky.”
“Maybe.” His chest rises and falls, his eyes unfocused as though he’s high from whatever he stole from me.
A tattoo moves on his chest, shaped like a black cat. “Is that—”
“Mal wanted to come along. Apparently, she can take any shape here, so I decided to...carry her around.”
I stare at the bouncing cat, totally weirded out. Did she see us kiss?
“Hey, Mal,” I greet her awkwardly.
The ink shimmers in response.
“That damn curse…if only I could find out who wove it.” Barron presses his lips together.
“What happened to her? Why was she cursed?” I ask.
“After her mother died, me and me brother raised her. That was a long time ago, before the hollows took over the small island where ye and I met, but I better not get into the details.”
I cross my arms. “What about the mists? What are they?
“The mists are a passage to the nether planes.”
The name rings a bell. Dad used to leave for the nether planes for weeks at a time.
“And this passage is close by?”
