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I glance around, my breath still coming in shallow bursts. The soft glow of the city lights filters through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. Everything is quiet. Calm. But the knot of fear in my stomach refuses to go away.
I collapse back against the pillows, my body trembling as the wave of adrenaline slowly recedes, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. I can still feel the ghost of Mal’s touch on my skin, the pressure of his hands, his lips.
It feltso real.
I close my eyes, willing myself to calm down, but my mind won’t stop racing. The dream was perhaps a warning, a reminder of just how dangerous he is and how easily he could consume me.
You want him to.
I shudder as the thought slithers through my psyche. It’s beyond fucked up, but the thought that won’t leave, no matter how much I try to will it away.
Mal is a dangerous monster. That much is abundantly obvious. I’ve watched him casually spill blood, maim and kill, all without flinching or showing one iota of emotion.
Plus, he knows the darkest, most dangerous secret I have.
…And yet here I am, having very,veryvivid sex dreams about him.
This one is hardly the first since the night he came into my room. And each time they come, they get more and more deviant and fucked up. Morewrong. Like my secretive, twisted desires and kinks are feeling more and more comfortable coming up to the surface to dance with dream Mal.
I’m having mind-blowing, kink-tastic,filthydream sex with the single most dangerous person to my health and well-being.
What is wrong with me?
I’ve been asking myself that question ever since the night I first saw him standing over those bodies with blood on his hands and a cold, calculating look in his eyes, but there’s no answer.
I should be terrified of him. Iamterrified of him.
But I’m also drawn to him in a way that scares me even more.
I sit up again, shoving the sweat-soaked sheets aside as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I shiver when the cool air hits my skin, though I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or the lingering effects of the dream.
I need to get out of here.
But Ican’t.
It’s barely noon, which is like two in the morning for me. Annika and I have been moved to Kir’s penthouse in the city, still in lockdown after the rooftop shooting at the engagement party.
I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep again anytime soon. So I stand, grabbing the robe that’s draped over the chair in the corner of the room. The fabric is soft and luxurious but too heavy right now, like it’s suffocating me. I shrug it on anyway, belting it tight as I make my way to the window.
One of the modifications Kir made to this place to turn it into Annika’s and my personal Fort Knox was to have the windows coated in a UV-blocking film. So even through it’s light out, I can still press my forehead against the glass and look out over the city.
I swear, I don’t deserve this found family.
I close my eyes as I try to steady my breathing and push the dream from my mind. But the image of Mal, the feel of his hands, the sound of his voice—it’s all still there, lurking just beneath the surface.
I can’t escape him.
And the real problem is, I don’t even know if Iwant to.
A soft knock at the door startles me and I turn, my heart leaping into my throat. I half expect to see Mal standing in the doorway, just like he was in the dream.
But he’s not.
It’s Annika.
Her red hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing an oversized Rangers hoodie that I recognize as Damian’s.
This penthouse is a frequent crash spot for him—when he’s not in a medically induced coma fighting for his life, that is.
