Page 49 of Run Like the Devil

I looked down at Loch, even though I couldn’t see her. “Loch would do this whether or not I agreed, whether or not I would come. The likelihood of succeeding wouldn’t change her opinion or her course.”

“So? Didn’t mean you had to tag alone.”

“I knew that I’d rather travel this path with her, no matter how it ended, then remain behind alone.” I offered up the truth as a way to counter that fear in my head, as a way to tell the Path to fuck off with its attempts to manipulate me.

Hale could do as he wished with that. It wasn’t as if he didn’t already know how deeply my feelings for Loch ran.

“And you?” I asked, turning the tables on him. “Why are you here?”

“Same reason, I guess. I’ll follow that fucking girl wherever she goes—don’t matter how dangerous, how fucking stupid, if she goes, I’m following.” After he spoke, he let out a loud bark of laughter that made Loch huff and nuzzle closer to me, as if annoyed her sleep was disturbed. “How fucking pathetic are we? Been at one another’s throats for decades, and here we are, pussy-whipped by the same little girl.”

I laughed along with him at the absurdity of it, at how not wrong he was. “I am unsure if that says something negative about us or complimentary toward her.” I leaned more against him, trying to ease the ache in my back. “I never would have thought that you and I would end up competing over the same woman.”

“I ain’t competing. She’s mine.”

“And I do not plan to let her go so easily.”

“Guess that leaves it up to her.”

I ran my fingers through Loch’s hair, able to imagine the green of the strands, the soft curls that rested there. I could see, in my head, the tattoos on her cheeks, the tiny wings that dotted her face.

I’d hated them at first, the idea of her face being marked as confusing as the rest of her. Who would do that? Who would tattoo their own face?

The symbols there meant more as time had gone on, but it was funny now that I couldn’t imagine her without them. I couldn’t even consider how she would look without those things that I had so disliked at first, the flash hair, the tattoos, the reckless streak and the foul mouth.

All the things I’d struggled with at first now drew me, as if they’d transformed into yet another thing that made her the perfect partner for me.

“What if she never chooses? What if she decides she can’t choose? Would you be able to accept such an arrangement?” I asked, unsure of my own answer to that question.

Could I share her? Assuming we made it through this all alive, assuming we survived everything against us, could I make a life where Loch loved others and not just me?

Could I put aside my own ego? Could I trust the others as I did her? What would that mean as far as a future? How could it possibly work out with the four of us having been enemies for so long?

I couldn’t picture Loch ever being happy that way, forever pulled between men who couldn’t stand one another. She cared too much about us to stomach that.

“I don’t know,” Hale answered, taking so long I had nearly forgotten my question. “I don’t fucking know if I could deal with that, if I could accept it. Of course, I also don’t think I could walk away from her, so I guess it doesn’t fucking matter, does it?”

I pressed my lips together as I considered the truth of his words, words that mirrored my own feelings.

I didn’t know that sharing was really feasible, but neither did I think I could every walk away from her? What did that mean for a future?

Did we even really have one?

Chapter Twelve

Loch

Lips pressed against my throat, and I moaned at the sensation. I’d felt so cold before, unable to warm up no matter what I did, but the kiss managed it just fine.

In fact, a heat combusted inside me at the stroking of those talented lips, and I tipped my head back to offer more—to offer everything.

Some small part of me knew it wasn’t real, but I didn’t give a damn. That part of me could STFU while I enjoyed myself. Even if it was a dream, I wanted this. I wanted to feel like my old self, to lose everything to passion, to feel the touch of another and crave more.

So I gave myself over to it—real or not, I didn’t give a fuck.

Hands roamed over me, stroking across my chilled skin, warming each place they touched. I arched into it, wanting more, especially when they missed all the places I really wanted them to touch.

Even in my dreams, my lovers were fucking teases, it seemed. I was sure that said something bad about me.

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