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I scowled. “Did you just read my mind?”
“Your intentions are written all over your face.” Fane grabbed my thigh, and those ghostly fingers returned, plunging inside me so fast and fierce that a scream bubbled in my throat, but his hand clamped down on my mouth to cut it off.
If Logan turned around, he’d see me writhing in the chair as his friend took complete control of me.
“Better be quiet, Teague. Wouldn’t want him to hear you begging me.”
I flipped him off, but I didn’t shove him back. I did nothing to make him think I didn’t want this. My desire was too strong, too intense.
My lids fluttered as Fane stoked the fires to blazing infernos again. My heart pounded in my chest, and electricity crackled over my skin as heat wrapped every inch. Fane’s relentlessness had my hips bucking off the chair while his hand muffled my whimpers.
The room spun, and my muscles tightened moments before that release finally hit, and I cried into his palm. Tremors rippled through me as hot and cold tingles spread from my center. A rainbow of colors burst over my vision like fireworks, and his earthy, spicy scent wrapped me in a warm blanket.
I collapsed back onto the cushions, my limbs like jelly. Fane removed his hand from my mouth and gently brushed sweaty strands of hair off my cheek, sending alarms blaring in my head. That move held too much kindness to be genuine.
Shadows coiled through his irises, and my nape prickled as if a predator had me in his sights.
One did. Fane Maverick.
He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “When I’m done with you, I’m going to make you wish you’d died that night instead of my brother.”
The venom in his words hit me like a visceral punch to the sternum, and all the heat he’d fueled extinguished as if it never existed.
“I wasn’t supposed to survive,” I snapped. When I went after that monster, I expected to die. I deserved it after failing to protect Jayla and even the others. But I lived.
Maybe surviving was my punishment.
Some of the rage flashing in Fane’s eyes melted into something else, but I shoved him off and limped toward the hall to search for a bathroom. That was the last time I’d let that asshole touch me.
* * *
My eyelids popped open,and I scrambled into a sitting position against the cushioned headboard as my ragged breaths filled the bedroom. I dragged my hand through my snarled locks, clearing them from my sweaty face. Beige walls with clean, white crown molding surrounded me, and sheer curtains outlined the windows on the left with views of the neighboring building.
Waking up in unfamiliar places was becoming the norm.
I kicked the cream and burgundy covers off and let the air from the ceiling fan sweep over my body. The nightmare that slithered into my dreams tonight made my flesh swelter and burn as if I was back in that bathwater at eleven years old.
The Millers, one of my foster families, were obsessively religious. Those zealots believed in all types of extreme bullshit. If I’d remained there, they probably would have married me off to some sweaty old man by the time I was thirteen—maybe even sooner, considering what happened that night.
I shuddered as the memories flooded back like a monsoon determined to drown me. In the middle of the night, I’d started my period for the first time. Thankfully, I already knew what was happening, or those idiots would have tried to fill my head with all sorts of horrible things. Instead of telling anyone, I’d planned on stealing some feminine products from a store or school, but Mrs. Miller found me and saw the stains on the stupid white dress she made us sleep in.
She’d filled the bath with scalding hot water and scrubbed the shit out of me until my skin was red and raw, some spots even bleeding. Mrs. Miller claimed she had to wash away my sins because now that I wasof age, I was no longer innocent.
My fingers ran over the rough patches and tiny scars on my knees. After the bath, she’d dragged me into the kitchen, poured uncooked rice on the ground, and made me kneel on the hard grains until the sun rose.
What a fucking psycho. That wasn’t the worst place, but it was certainly no picnic.
I studied the scars on my wrists as a chill slinked down my spine. No. Definitely not the worst foster home I was sent to. The burn of ropes against my wrists and the terror of being locked in that dark, cramped closet had cold sweat beading along my nape.
With some effort, I shut those memories off and jumped from the bed. The glowing red lights of the digital clock on the nightstand read two in the morning, so hopefully no one was awake. I’d much rather run into Logan, though. He was a high demon, but he didn’t want to destroy me any way he could.
He also didn’t make me crave his touch.
I tiptoed down the hall, toying with the hem of the t-shirt Logan loaned me since my bag was still at the Anders’ home in Mohan Wilds. When I made it into the living room, I avoidedthe chairat all costs. The single light above the stove led me into the unoccupied kitchen with maple shaker cabinets that contrasted with the charcoal-gray granite counters. Logan had given me one of the two guest rooms to sleep in, and I’d remained inside without eating. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as that prick demon shifter.
My stomach howled as hunger pangs set in. I opened one of the cabinets stocked with cups. The next one had plates and bowls, and the next had a variety of wine glasses.
Did the demon throw dinner parties every weekend? Who lived alone and needed that many dishes?
