Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 202(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 202(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Aurora leans against the black marble kitchen island, spearing a fork into a plate of pasta. She takes a bite, her lips wrapping around the fork in a way that has my fangs begging to punch out. Fuck me, I need to get a grip. But with her, it’s impossible. She’s always been my responsibility, but she doesn’t realize she’s been my undoing since the moment I laid eyes on her. The more time I’ve spent with her, the harder I’ve fallen. And I hate it. Because she deserves so much more than me. The hunter who might have a slip in sanity at any moment. The twin who shares a bond with her abuser…the bond that might kill me when I finally manage to end my brother.
“This pasta is amazing,” she says before looking up at where I linger just outside the kitchen.
I step farther into the space, wondering if she knew how long I’ve been watching her.
She sets her fork down and studies me as I stop on the other side of the island.
“You okay?”
“There’s no sign of the Sons,” I answer. “No sign of a threat anywhere on the property.”
Aurora nods. “That’s great to hear, but that’s not what I asked.”
“I’m fine.” I double the ice around my heart.
She scans my face, her eyes lingering on mine. I can’t help but wonder if every time she looks at me, she thinks about him.
“You look hungry.” She pushes the plate toward me. “I’ve got plenty to share.”
She looks so damn hopeful, I can’t help but pick up the fork and scoop up a bite. It’s a fine dish, but it’s nowhere near close to the food I want or need. My eyes trail to her neck, to the whorls of black ink that make up my and my twin’s mating mark.
Bite. Claim. Fuck.
The territorial bastard inside me imagines stepping into her space, running my hands over her body, picking her up and spreading her on this very kitchen island. Fuck, I’m certain she’d taste like heaven spilling into my mouth. Filling me, fueling me in every single way I need.
I clench my eyes shut, searching for that thread of control I can feel stretching so tight, I’m afraid it’ll snap.
“Saint?”
I blink a few times, forcing my sight to switch back to normal, not thermal. I’m not on a fucking hunt. I’m not about to tear into her flesh.
But if she’d ask me again…
I really hope she doesn’t. I don’t know how much longer I can deny her.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s good,” I answer, pushing the plate back toward her.
“But not what you were craving?” There’s a flash of desire in her eyes, a teasing sort of levity and clarity that makes my heart sing. Fuck, she’s brilliant. She’s come so far. Soon, she won’t need me to help her through the nightmares. She’ll be free of me. And once I manage to kill my brother, she’ll be free of us both.
I should be proud. Should be happy about that fact. But I’m a selfish bastard who wants to stay in her presence forever.
“I could help you with that,” she says, rounding the kitchen island to stand in front of me. She’s so close, her scent floods my nose. A low growl rumbles from me, a purely primal response I can’t stop. I lock every one of my muscles, forcing myself to barely breathe.
“Aurora.” Her name is a warning.
She doesn’t heed it, stepping closer. “Saint.”
Fuck me, when she says my name like that, I lose another ounce of my control. She’s offering herself like a five-course meal on decorative silver platters. It would be so easy to dip down, capture her mouth, and haul her against me. I could touch her, make her limp with pleasure before sinking my fangs into her and drinking her down so deep, I’d be living off her alone. Tasting her would be my ruin. I’ve wanted her for so long, how would I ever stop?
“Let me help—”
“No,” I cut her off and take a step away from her. The idea of having no control with her, of possibly drinking too much…I can’t put her at risk like that.
I won’t.
Her shoulders drop, but she holds her firm gaze, not budging an inch.
I turn around, and every step away from her feels like walking through wet cement.
A bloodcurdling scream rips through the walls.
I’m on my feet and wending into Aurora’s room before I’ve fully registered that I’m awake.
She thrashes on the bed, fighting against an invisible assailant. Relief surges through me for a moment, the breath coming back to my lungs now that I know she’s not under an actual physical attack, just a mental one.
“Aurora,” I whisper her name, climbing onto the bed. “Aurora, wake up.” I catch her fist as it flies toward me, the punch having a bite to it that makes me proud.