Chapter 25 War
Malach
I smelled you before the church doors even creaked. Jasmine, clove smoke, road dust, and the sour stink of Ronan’s wolves clinging to your jacket like cheap cologne. My wolf went feral inside my skin, claws pricking at my fingertips.
The torc moved; you seem to forget that it's tied to me just as much as it's tied to you. I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that you had it. I left my opponent bleeding and unconscious in the cage without a word. Jed caught my eye; I gave him the smallest tilt of my head. He knew what to do.
You hauled yourself over the edge, full of fire and fury. The torc clenched in your fist like a grenade with the pin already pulled. When you saw me, your shoulders squared and every inch of you went battle-ready.
"Going somewhere?" I asked, my voice a low rumble.
"I'm done here, Malach," you said, chin held high. You held up the torc, the silver glinting in the dim light of the church. "I'm taking this back."
“I’m done here,” you said, voice steady even while your pulse hammered loud enough for me to hear it across the room. You lifted the torc. Moonlight through the broken windows turned it into liquid starlight. “I’m taking this back.”
Back to Ronan. You didn’t say it, but the name was written all over you.
I pushed off the wall, slow. “You reek of Nashville gutter wolves.”
Your chin came up. “And you reek of psycho stalker. We all have our flaws.”
God, that mouth. I wanted it screaming my name. I wanted it silent and swollen from my kisses. Right now I’d settle for it telling me the truth.
I stepped closer. You didn’t retreat, but your knuckles went white around the torc.
“Did you break into my apartment?" you ask, pulling out your phone and showing me the message I sent earlier. You’re trying to distract me, and it’s cute.
"I needed to return your things," I said, my gaze unwavering. "The dream was a bonus.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Stay out of my head.”
“Too late. You let me in the second you tried to steal what’s mine.”
I reached for the torc. You pulled it back, but not before my fingers brushed against yours. The bond snapped taut between us, white-hot, fierce, perfect. You inhaled sharply as if I’d hit you.
I didn’t let go.
“Feel that?” I murmured. “Every time we touch, another knot. You can saw at the rope all you want, baby. It only tightens.”
You tried to pull away. I held. Then you did the last thing I expected.
You stepped into me, chest to chest, heat to heat. Your free hand slid up my arm like a lover’s until your fingers wrapped around the back of my neck. The lockpick you had palmed pressed firmly against my carotid.
The metal was silver-plated. It burned like holy water.
“Let me go, Malach,” you whispered, lips almost brushing mine. “I’m walking out of here. I’m going to Nashville. And I’m ending this my way.”
Five thousand years of instinct roared at me to crush you against the wall, snap that delicate wrist, drag you downstairs and chain you to my bed until you begged.
Instead I smiled.
“Clock’s ticking,” I said. “Ronan’s already got three wolves on the road looking for you. They’ll be at the Nashville address by midnight tomorrow. You planning to hand him the torc, or your throat?”
Your pupils widened, revealing either rage or fear, it was hard to tell which.“I’m planning to give him both if he touches that kid.”
Brave. Stupid. Mine.
I leaned in until the silver pick broke skin and a bead of my blood rolled down your fingers.
“Then go,” I said, voice rough. For the first time since you crawled out of that shaft, you looked uncertain. I released the torc and stepped back, creating a space that was both an invitation and a challenge. “Let’s see how far you come.”
Your jaw clenched, a storm brewing behind your eyes. You had your chance. I’d just given you your marching orders. And I’d just given myself an excuse to go to war.