Page 89 of Our Sins in Blood (Coven of Sin 1)

There were no ifs, ands, or fucking buts about it. The monster inside was going to claim Sterling, and the bitch wasn’t stopping and asking for my permission.

Biting Eros had been an accident. But the second I laid eyes on Sterling’s mark, my monster had come screaming to life.

She had chosen her mate.

She had chosen her king.

Chapter forty-three

Pheromone

Themonsterinsidemefought for control, and my humanity was losing grip over the reins.

The last time I’d lost it like this, it was to protect myself. Before I knew what I was doing, I had torn out a man’s throat and ripped off his head. But with Sterling, I wasn’t in any danger. Seeing the mating mark on his throat had triggered something within me, and now I was fighting tooth and nail to keep myself from doing something embarrassing. There was a primal creature inside me, thrashing around, going totally ape shit.

All reason melted away into white noise, and the gentle piano music pouring from the radio wrapped around me. My vision shrunk to pinpoints to hone in on the gorgeous male in front of me. All I could focus on was how goddamndelicioushe smelled. Like the salty ocean and faintly of paper and cashmere.

Beneath that, another fragrance drove me wild with rage. It was the stench of another vampire, stamped into his flesh when it should’ve been my scent woven together with his. Not some other bitch’s.

Sterling canted his head slightly as he listened to every noise I was making. I was sure he could hear it all. Hell, he could probably pick out the sounds of dust motes landing on his books, let alone the grinding of my teeth and the rapid pound of my heart.

I let out a feral purr that seemed to bleed out from some deep, dark place within me.

I wasn’t sure what the sound was—I’d made it without even thinking. But Sterling’s expression shifted, his brows twitching, and the tendons in his neck went taut.

I was suddenly filled with the overwhelming urge to attack Sterling, and he was clearly privy to this fact as he began pulling up the sleeves of his navy sweater.

He was preparing for my attack. That, combined with the sight of his muscular forearms teeming with a network of veins, had my tongue going dry—desperate to trace them—and caused my composure to snap like dry spaghetti.

“Sterling,” I said on a pained growl, my tone guttural and laced with warning. I took a step toward him. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

The prince held his ground as he stared dead ahead, his waxen eyes boring straight through me like they could see everything that made me tick.

“Miss Baxter, listen to me,” he said in a soothing, matter-of-fact tone. It was the voice of someone talking another off a ledge. “You’re going into a territorial state. It’s not uncommon for a youngblood with little control over their instincts, especially for one looking to bond with an already claimed mate.”

“I think I might hurt you,” I managed to choke out, ashamed by this weird bundle of instincts. Ashamed and turned on all at the same time. Which just made me even more confused and pissed off.

“That’s alright,” he murmured in a velvet-soft whisper, his words calm and reassuring. “Lose control. Give in to your instincts. There is no better way to become familiar with them than by letting those instincts drive for a while. You’re about to attack me, to try and gain dominance over me. Go ahead and try, Miss Baxter. It will be a good learning experience.”

A good learning experience?I was going primal on this almost stranger. My vagina was basically derailing all my damn plans and embarrassing the crap out of me, and he was using it to teach me?

Here I was, about to attack him so I could fuck and bite him. Yet he was the soothing, reassuring voice of reason with not an ounce of judgment traceable in his words or his easy demeanor. He only oozed confidence, a patient smile perched on his flawless lips.

It made me want him all the more.

Without thinking, I lunged.

He moved so fast, I didn’t see him evade me. I only felt the tickle of wind as he brushed past. Whirling around, he stood where I had been just seconds ago, standing among his horde of books with his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants.

Holy Mother of God, those sweatpants. Gray sweats had no right being so goddamn erotic, but on this male, they hugged his athletic thighs like cellophane.

I couldn’t stop thinking about his bare abdomen when he’d stepped out of the shower, the perfect cluster of muscles dusted with wet droplets that I’d give damn near anything to wipe clean with my tongue.

The ravaged crucifix tattoo.

His jawline, so sharp it could cut glass.

That damn mark that wasn’t mine.

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