Page 307 of Primal

I blink. No more bergamot. Air’s clean.

Payton doesn’t notice—she’s too busy glaring at me. “You want me to be bait?”

“I want you alive. Give me ten seconds to flank him.”

Her throat works. “Then what?”

I tilt my head. “Then I show him who’s better at playing Ghostface.”

Her teeth catch her bottom lip.

“You keep staring like that, we’re gonna give the motherfucker one hell of a show.”

She rolls her eyes. Drops her gaze. “Promise me something.”

“What?”

“If you do get him … make it hurt.”

Justice or revenge? Either way, her words go straight to my cock. I knew she had teeth.

“Count on it.” I catch her chin. “If this goes sideways, you run. Hide.”

“I’m not leaving Kristy. Or you.” She shrugs her hoodie off one shoulder. Rakes her hair into an even bigger mess. Her hand darts to my wound, fingers sinking in.

I hiss.

She swipes the blood across her cheekbone. Two stripes. “Traumatized enough?”

Disheveled and fake-broken. Eyes still blazing.

I yank the mask up over my mouth. Lick her fingers clean. “Now he’s really fucked.”

A flush rises up her throat.

“Well, well,” someone drawls. “Look what the devil dragged in.”

I’m already moving—blade out, body shielding hers.

The Reaper steps into view, scythe gleaming.

“Run along, Grim,” I growl through the modulator. “We’re busy.”

He tilts his mask. “Miss me, Thirty-one?”

Payton stiffens. “Wesley?”

The fuck? They’ve met?

He twirls his scythe. “What are you doing with this mortal? Your screams were sweeter—”

My blade finds his throat. “Let’s see how you sound when you choke on your own blood.”

Payton grabs my wrist. “He was just playing his role.”

“Yeah? How’s this game then, Grim?” I press harder. A bead of blood wells on his neck. “Three seconds. Tell me why I shouldn’t drape your guts all over these trees.”

Wesley blinks, hands half-raised. “Whoa. Chill, Ghostface. It’s Halloween. We’re all just—”