Page 104 of Yearning For Her

You can only trust the drinks as much as you can trust the fae offering them—which is not at all.

A soft whine rose from her chest, and this time, she couldn’t stop a cry from escaping. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She hugged herself and strode away from the nightclub, ignoring the stares from bystanders, ignoring their pitying looks. She didn’t care where she was going, so long as it was away.

Twenty-Eight

Kian’s soul cried out in a banshee’s wail of pain, disgust, and betrayal that was amplified from somewhere outside of himself. His stomach cramped and sank, and fiery, crushing pressure seized his chest. It was so overwhelming that it prevented him from moving, from thinking. He was frozen, paralyzed by shock.

Wrong. This was horribly, sickeningly wrong.

The woman leaned her weight into the kiss, pressing her body against his as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. She tasted of overly sweet cherry lip gloss and sour alcohol.

No.

Kian slammed a hand on the table, rattling the glasses and bottles atop it. The music raced, its frantic beat a mockery of his pounding heart. He shoved himself up from the chair, tearing his head out of the woman’s hold and severing the unwanted contact between them.

She gasped and stumbled backward, bumping into the neighboring table.

Kian barely heard the ensuing commotion. As the people at the other table voiced their surprise and irritation, Kian dragged his forearm across his mouth, desperate to erase the woman’s taste, to end the heated sting pulsing across his lips. His skin itched, and he fought back a wild urge to tear at it with his claws.

“What the hell?” demanded the woman who’d taken Willow’s seat as she rose.

Gods, he could still taste that fucking kiss.

He spat on the floor, making the woman who’d kissed him cry out and pull her foot away. But spitting made no difference. Spinning toward the table, he grabbed the pitcher and raised it, pouring water into his mouth.

Freezing water and chunks of ice ran down his cheeks, chin, and throat, barely assuaging the lingering discomfort. He rinsed out his mouth and spat into an empty glass, immediately repeating the process.

Though the taste faded, that sense of wrongness remained unwavering.

“What is wrong with you?” the woman who’d kissed him asked with a huff.

“Fuck off,” he growled.

“You weren’t like this last time.”

Only then did he look at her. Blonde hair, hazel eyes, a slight tan. Her lips were tinted pink, and gold eyeshadow adorned her eyelids. Anger and hurt warred on her face. He tried to recall a time, a place, but nothing came to him.

“Don’t fucking touch me again,” he said.

“What the fuck? You didn’t have a problem with it when we hooked up before!”

He wanted to deny her insinuation, wanted to charm her to get her to shut up and get the fuck away from him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Her face was one of thousands. After a while, they’d all looked the same, male or female. Whether he’d fed from her a month ago or years ago, he didn’t recall this woman.

Recent experiences had taught him to sympathize with the mortals he’d used, and perhaps, at another time, he might have been gentler. But all he could think about was his mate. All he could consider was the distress she’d clearly been in, and this…this betrayal.

Because it didn’t matter that he hadn’t initiated the kiss, didn’t matter that he hadn’t wanted it. In his distraction, he’d failed to sense the signs that were always there. He’d failed to anticipate what had happened so often in the past.

He was an incubus. People were naturally drawn to him, and they tended to throw themselves at him, seeking the pleasure he could provide. This woman and her companions had made no effort to hide their desire as they’d approached Kian’s table, especially once they’d started talking to him.

His disinterested responses hadn’t been firm enough. Yes, his thoughts had been consumed by Willow, but that was no excuse. He should’ve done more.

Kian spoke through gritted teeth. “Fuck. Off.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” The woman tugged the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder.

“Yeah, I hope your dick rots off,” one of her friends added.

They had caused this trouble for him. He wasn’t the villain here.

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