Page 99 of Cruel Malady: A Necrosis of the Mind

Bag pushed to my hip, I raise my hands and let them drape his shoulders as I move and undulate to the rhythm. I used to enjoy dancing. I still do, I find. Maybe even more so. The music is a living force as it careens through my system like an electric charge. I feel every intense beat, piercing octave, moving lyric.

The act of seduction is empowering. I was good at it; I had studied what men and women wanted, and I knew how to lure them in. I turn to face my dance partner, ignoring the smug smile on his face, and instead focus on my pleasure.

Somewhere inside me pulses a dull ache of doubt—a truth felt at my core that this isn’t what I want, that it doesn’t compare to what I’ve experienced. But I close my eyes and embrace the crescendo, focusing on the euphoric stream flowing through my body. I throw my head back as I’m swept away in the sensation.

He sweeps his hand over my ass, and I try not to recoil. I grip his shirt and rotate my body provocatively, holding on tight as if I have no choice, like it’s my fucking salvation.

I feel the press of a warm body from behind. Ignoring the impulse to look, to push away, I stay in the moment. Strong hands seize my waist, and a charged current arcs over my skin. I allow myself to lean back into the stranger as his hand trails my hip purposefully and slips between my thighs.

I’m fire and brimstone, searing around the edges. The hazy smoke creates a canopy above, cocooning us and fusing our bodies together. I’m coming undone at the feel of his fingers curling into my shirt to grip me closer.

If I don’t act now, I might lose my nerve. I open my eyes and latch on to the guy in front of me. “Kiss me,” I demand.

His dark brows knit together in a confused expression, and I realize he can’t hear me over the music. Before I’m able to act on my impulse, a hand collars my neck—the guy at my back. His fingers slide along my jaw and force my face sideways. Then I feel the brush of his mouth against my ear.

The scent of sandalwood and aquatic cologne spikes my adrenals, triggering a visceral reaction.

My body stills. My heart constricts in my chest to the point of pain.

“I missed you, my goddess, my Peitho,” he whispers, his breath teasing the shell of my ear. “Don’t make a scene.”

His arm fastens around my waist, caging me in, anticipating my response to flee. “She was a force,” I say, reiterating a point I’ve made before. “Not a goddess.”

The guy in front takes the hint that I’m no longer interested and coasts away, taking up the backside of another woman. Leaving Alex and me alone in a haze of smoke and tension.

The strobe lights slow to the tender beat of the house music as it dulls into a quiet roar inside my head.

“It was torment staying away from you,” Alex says.

His voice is a ghostly whisper from the grave. My nightmares and fantasies colliding. I close my eyes, my skin aflame. A riot of emotions war within me, and all I can do is sway within his arms.

I was right…and so was London.

I hunted him to this place, and he found me.

“What is it about night clubs that makes you unable to resist me?” I ask.

He nuzzles his face in my hair affectionately, pushing the strands aside and placing a delicate kiss behind my ear. “No one can resist you, Blakely. But I’ll be damned if I stand back and watch another man touch what’s mine.”

I clasp my hand over his on my belly, my nails digging into his skin. He doesn’t react. Instead, he tightens his hold and leads us away from the crush of bodies, guiding me off the dance floor toward a more secluded section of the club.

Panic flares in my veins, roiling my blood into a frenzy. Logic battles to the surface of my chaotic thoughts as I try to remember my plan.

More than any torture Alex has subjected on me, I hate the weak and unsure person he’s reduced me to.

So I let him take me. I press against him and feel every inch of his body. I drag my hands over his arms and chest, his hips and thighs, searching for any weapons or syringes. As I move up his body, he grips my biceps.

He levels me with those killer blue eyes. His intense gaze sinks right through my skin. “I didn’t come here to hurt you,” he says, seeing through my seductive full body search.

I arch an eyebrow. “Just making sure you’re notcarrying,” I say mockingly, reminding him of the time he tried to sneak a knife into an MMA fight. My gaze shifts to the bandage around his hand.

He notices my interest. “Consequences of touching the fire.” His tone conveys a double entendre, but all I hear is he’s wounded. He has a disadvantage.

He maneuvers us to the side of the DJ booth where he presses my back to a wall. He flattens his palm above my head, his body leaned into mine, as if we’re merely having an engrossing conversation.

I let my gaze drift over him, examining him thoroughly. He’s dressed down with jeans and a gray long-sleeved button-up. He practically fades into the background of the city’s muted industrial tones. Alex has always known how to blend well.

His hair is longer. Unkempt and falling below his ears. I hate that I find it sexy. His build has changed some; more definition, toned, as if he’s been working out just as hard as I have in preparation for this reunion.

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