Page 48
I swallow. His fingers remain firm against my cheeks as he watches my throat work, watching me take it. Light help me, my cock kicks so hard in my trousers that it nearly undoes me on the spot.
He’s a monster. A monster. But his lips are impossibly soft as they mold into mine. His teeth nip at my bottom lip, then bite harder, a bright sting, and the copper of my own blood blooms between us.
The sound I make isn’t pain. It should be pain.
He soothes the sting with a slow drag of his tongue, and I moan shamelessly into his mouth as his tongue slides past mine, carrying the taste of my blood back with it like it belongs to him now. As if everything in this hollow belongs to him now.
Maybe it does.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only enough to look at me. I’m panting against his lips, my whole weight hanging from the fist in my hair, and I let it. Something in my shoulders lets go that’s been tight since the gates.
His thumb strokes my throbbing bottom lip, spreading the last of the sting.
“Why did the scanner buzz with you?”
Goosebumps rise at the rasp against my breath, and my heart skips a beat. Perhaps it’s at what he asks, perhaps at how he makes me feel. I don’t know anymore. I’m so far gone. I never thought kissing could be this... overwhelming.
But I’m not too far gone to know whom to protect. Onyx. Always Onyx.
“Why did you sign that washer with your own name?” he continues, when I don’t answer.
I search his face for a mercy I’m almost certain he doesn’t have. “I don’t know about the scanner. I...”
A low chuckle steals the words from my mouth. He drops a kiss on my lips and squeezes my throat until I can only gasp.
“Liar.” Kiss. “Prey.” Lick. “You are my prey. Tell me something real about your life. Your family. Why you came here.”
“Why would I tell you...”
“Trade for trade, prey.” The words brush against my jaw. “And I’ll tell you about mine.”
“I’m an orphan,” I blurt. I don’t even know why the words tumble out. I expect the same loneliness that always follows, but instead I feel relieved. “I work in the mines on Calder.”
“In the mines.” His fingers go still on my throat. “Which shaft?”
“Northern fields. Pump crew, mostly. Why...”
“Mm.” His thumb strokes over my pulse. “You worked long shifts, then?”
“Twelve hours. Longer when the filters clog.”
“Filters.” He inclines his head. “And the dust never bothered you?”
“You get used to...” I stop.
Around us, the fire crackles.
His smile shows all his teeth. Too late, I realize what he’s done. Those weren’t questions. They were a trap, and I walked straight into it.
“Interesting. Onyx Mercer’s intake file lists stage-three graylung. Six years in the shafts. Lungs like wet paper.” His thumb taps my hammering pulse. “A graylung case couldn’t run this Hunt for an hour.”
Dragging his thumb up under my chin, he tips my face toward him. “And you haven’t coughed once in two days.”
I can’t breathe, and this time his hand has nothing to do with it.
He watches me for another moment, then the grin returns. “Might have to kill you myself one day, after repayment.”
I try to pull back, but his hand stays around my throat, and his hips shift beneath mine, dragging me against him again.
