Page 2 of Savage Possession
I grab a book from the shelf, the one with the dragon shifter king, and press it into her hands. Our fingers brush. Her skin is warm and electric, soft in a way that makes my own hands feel clumsy and dangerous.
“In this one, the king is cursed,” I say, lowering my voice so it’s just for her. “At night, he becomes the beast everyone fears. By day, he rules a dying kingdom—lonely, broken, desperate to save his people. And there’s only one way out for him and his people, but the price is more than any man should have to pay, if you ask me.”
She stares at the cover, her lashes lowering as she drags her finger over the gold-embossed title. “What’s the price?”
I want to answer with a joke, but I can’t. Not when my sweet angel looks at me like that, all wide-eyed and hungry for something real.
Mine.
That one word mentally knocks me back. I’m not one for anything beyond a one-night hook-up. Forever isn’t my style, but this woman has me already wanting exactly that.
“He has to give up his true love,” I say, letting the words linger with heaviness between us. “To save everyone looking to him for protection, the cursed king has to lose her. She’s the only thingthat ever made him feel alive. The only thing that made the curse bearable.”
She turns those pretty blues on me, and in that moment, I’d burn down the world to keep her from feeling a fraction of that king’s pain or what his lover went through.
“That sounds… unfair,” she whispers. “Who would make someone choose like that?”
“People do it all the time,” I say, unable to keep the bitterness from my tone. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice. Sometimes you’re just… left with what’s left.” I regret saying it, the truth in my words exposing a little too much, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she steps closer, the toes of her white sneakers nearly brushing my boots.
“Is it a happy ending? Does the cursed king find a way to save his lover?” Her voice is so small and grasping for a few threads of hope that I have to strain my hearing to catch her words.
I grin, tilting my head, letting my eyes drag over her. “You’ll have to read it and find out. I’m not spoiling the best part, sweet angel.”
The space between us is electric—my breath mixing with hers, my chest tight with the need to touch her, taste her, ruin her for anyone but me. My hand finds hers. The second our skin touches there’s a fusing of energy. It travels up my arm and buries deep in my heart to the point I don’t think I can let her go.
“Stay a while longer and let me tell you more.” Those words are out of my mouth before I can properly plan out what an evening with one of God’s missing angels should be.
I let my hand linger in hers a moment longer, my thumb tracing over her knuckles, memorizing every detail of her delicate skin. She looks at our connection and then gifts me with those eyes one more time. Those pretty blues shine while her breath is shaky like she’s caught between wanting to run and wanting to see what happens if she stays.
She clears her throat, voice soft but steady. “I don’t even know your name.”
For a split second, I can only stare at her. At the perfect contrast of her snowy hair and that wild blush riding high in her cheeks. “It’s Ash,” I offer in a hushed tone, feeling her name hover on the tip of my tongue even though I haven’t earned it yet. Like whatever it is, I’ve heard before because our souls have been attached since forever. Listen to me, I must have been a poet in some lifetime.
I want to laugh at myself and I would if I didn’t believe my own crazy thoughts.
“Most people just call me Ash, but my real name is Silas. You can call me either. Whatever you want.”
A shy smile curves her lips. “Ash.” She tests it, and I swear it does something wicked to my pulse as she takes in my work black jeans, the tight fit of my cotton T-shirt and the club’s cut I have on.
“You’re a biker?”
“Through and through.”
She doesn’t seem to mind though I know from her softness, this woman has never been on the back of a bike.
“I’m Isa. Well, Isabella, but everyone calls me Isa.”
Isa. I let it roll around in my mind—sweet, short, soft as her voice. I want to say it again and again, just to see how she reacts.
“Isa.” I say it slowly, letting the syllables melt between us. Her eyes widen just a touch, and I catch the little hitch in her breath. “That’s a beautiful name, sweet angel.”
She bites her lower lip, and I’m a goner all over again. I caress the pad of my thumb over the back of her knuckles in slow, soothing circles. Her skin is cool but growing warmer by the second, her pulse fluttering beneath my touch.
She’s looking up at me, her blue eyes catching the light, lips parting on a shaky exhale. “Ash,” she says, and damn if it doesn’t sound like a plea.
“Yeah, sweet angel?” The pet name comes out rough, loaded, full of all the things I want to tell her, but shouldn’t. Like would she marry me? Have my baby? Maybe I should start by asking if she would kiss me?
She steps closer, bringing with her the scent of autumn on a crisp night. Apples, vanilla and spices meant to drive a man wild.
