A Ruin of Roses (Deliciously Dark Fairytales 1)

His movements were sleek and graceful, and his eyes—still that same animalistic gold hue—tracked me as he stalked forward. He was the hunter in this situation, and he knew it. The predator. He was sighting in on his prey. Me.

What caught me, though, wasn’t his muscle or obvious power. It wasn’t even the aura of danger that twisted my gut and made my legs tremble. It was his scarred appearance.

A mess of vicious scars cut across his physique. A ragged silver line on his pec ran beside his nipple, four parallel scars sliced through his side, and other lines crisscrossed his abdomen. He’d tried to cover them up with swirls of ink. It hadn’t worked, though. If anything, it brought more attention to his past trauma, some causing puckered skin and others creating valleys from what must’ve been deep wounds.

He stopped a handful of feet from me, his brawn and power making my breath come out unevenly. Even as man, he was enormous. I was a tall woman, but his height topped mine by a foot. The point of my dagger wobbled back and forth, and there was nothing I could do to hide my shaking arm.

“You are trespassing,” he said with a deep, scratchy voice. It sounded like he’d earned that, too. As though he’d screamed so hard and long that he’d damaged his vocal cords.

“You chased me in here. I hardly think that counts,” I said, adept at biting back against all odds. I’d had a lot of practice.

“The price of trespassing is detention. The price of stealing is death.”

“Good thing I didn’t steal, then.” I held out my arms to indicate my lack of stolen goods.

Clearly on impulse, he dipped his gaze down to follow the thread of the conversation. His eyes had started moving back upward, toward my face, when he did a double take and settled his attention on my chest. I belatedly realized that sweat had made my threadbare nightshirt cling to my freely hanging breasts, no time for binding before I ran from the house. The cold and fear had made my nipples stand at attention. He was getting an eyeful.

The pressure in the air increased. The weight inside of my middle flipped over, and more fire leaked out. My core tightened as his gaze slowly lifted to mine. Hunger flashed in those golden eyes. Lust. Dominance.

Something within me—something foreign but rooted way down deep—purred in delight. Desire warmed my body.

What the fuck is happening, folks? This shit is no good.

I recognized this feeling, though. It was the lust magic from last night. This still didn’t feel the same as an incubus’s power. Their power was lean and slinky and slick. Oily. This was…raw and intense and powerful. Dangerous. Delicious.

I pushed it away with everything I had, ignoring the sudden wetness between my legs and the unyielding desperation to be taken roughly. To have him pound that big cock into me over and over again.

“Finley, isn’t it?”

Why did that rough voice suddenly feel like a sensuous lick across my heated flesh? I hated that I loved it. Hated that I suddenly craved his kisses between my thighs. His fingers banging into my slick sex.

“Fuck the goddess sideways, I am losing my fucking mind,” I mumbled, trying to get a grip. I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead. It felt like his magic was unwinding me, one thread at a time. Why did it feel so fucking good?

“Do you want to be dominated, Finley? Your animal certainly does.”

“Wh-what?” I pushed my palm to my chest, feeling that weight within rail against my ribcage, as though it were indeed a creature trying to break free. The fire kept seeping into my bloodstream, pulsing power into my limbs. I was drunk with it. Drunk on this feeling. Desperate to let this big-ass alpha push me down into the dirt right now and drive that big cock deep into my needy cunt.

“Enough!”

His bark of command was like a splash of cold water.

I blinked and realized I’d dropped my dagger and now stood right in front of him. His chest heaved like mine, his large cock fully erect between us. I hadn’t touched him yet, but it was clear I’d been about to act on the things I’d been thinking. To demand he give me what I was craving.

The scary thing was that I had no idea when I’d moved or how I’d gotten there. Neither of those things had registered. It was like someone else had assumed control of my movements. Control of me. But at the same time, I remembered thinking those dirty words. Remembered wanting to act on them. Remembered feeling the ache in my core at the filthy, delicious thoughts.

Oh no, was it happening again?

Without thinking, I slapped him across the face. Then thought, Oh shit, what did I just do?