Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men 6)

My body registered the scent before my mind did, relaxing like a ragdoll in his hold even though it made it harder to breathe.

Because I knew instinctively, this man wouldn’t hurt me even if it was in his nature to hurt everyone else.

“Priest,” I rasped.

His fingers flexed around my neck then loosened to a soft collar so I could breathe easy.

“You got a death wish I don’t know about?” he demanded coldly, shaking his head once, hard enough to dislodge the hood. It fell back to reveal his thick, lush red hair and the pale, narrow set of his beautiful eyes.

He looked like the reaper come to collect my heart and put it on a string he’d wear around his neck. As if he wanted to punish me for my stupidity in the same breath he wanted to be the only one ever responsible for my pain.

“Maybe,” I told him honestly. “Lately, I’ve been…restless.”

“Death’ll put an end to that sure enough,” he agreed, but the tension in his jaw made his words click robotically against his teeth. “You can’t do shit when you’re in the ground.”

“Actually, I’d like to be cremated. Maybe even made into a tree. Did you know you can do that now? Lila told me about it.”

Priest blinked at my babbling. He had absurdly long, curly lashes the colour of fine copper.

“I coulda killed you, Bea,” he told me as if I was an idiot. “I coulda killed you so many different ways, and you would have deserved it for bein’ so stupid. What were you thinkin’?”

“I was thinking you were in here.” I hesitated, then slowly lifted a hand, the way you would with a rabid dog, and wrapped it lightly over the wrist of his hand that held my neck. “I wanted to thank you.”

His flinch was only a micro-expression, a tightening of his mouth, a flickering of his left eye that he couldn’t quite staunch, but I was used to Priest. I’d become an expert at reading his minuscule ticks and mining them for gold.

“Nothin’ to thank me for.” Abruptly, he let go of me and took a large step back, the wall at his back the only thing stopping him from retreating farther.

It was a narrow space. There was no place for either of us to run and it was difficult to tell, just then, who wanted to flee more badly.

In my own way, I supposed, I was terrorizing Priest just as much as he was used to being a terror to others.

My kindness toward him was an aberration he wasn’t accustomed to.

It only made me want to swaddle him up in my love and never let him go.

I stepped toward him.

He scowled, his gorgeous face twisting into an expression that would have scared the socks off Jack the Ripper.

It worked differently on me.

I felt that intensity warm my belly, heavy between my legs. It made me want his hand back around my throat so he could feel the siren’s call of my rapid pulse and know I was so affected by him.

“Of course, I have to thank you,” I said softly. “You saved my life.”

“I nearly killed you.” His voice was hollow without even a hint of emotion.

I bit my lip, then went for it. “Sometimes, a near-death experience can be eye-opening. It can make you realize things you never thought you could or should want.”

“Want is not need. Be satisfied with the essentials. Hopin’ for more will only bring you sufferin’.”

“Is that what happened to you?” I asked on a breath, shocked by my audacity.

My gasp was cut off as Priest surged forward suddenly, his hand back at my throat, this time bringing me closer instead of pushing me away.

I didn’t think he was aware of the way his thumb brushed back and forth over my jugular, testing my pulse. My mouth was open, breath hot and fanning across his face, so close I could’ve counted the cinnamon flecks on his cheeks if I’d had better light. I could taste him on my tongue, the spice of him, the faint bitterness of tobacco.

I wondered wildly how he would taste, of animal or man.

Unconsciously, my back arched to bring us closer, but he kept a careful distance between us. A sliver of air that had substance.

“You don’t know anythin’ ’bout me, Bea Lafayette,” he growled, his voice so abrasive it scored goose bumps into my flesh. “You think you can follow me around like a little shadow and I wouldn’t notice it? I notice everythin’. Even little girls without a brain in their head.”

I tried not to let the insult land, but my parents had always called Loulou the smart one, the pretty one, better than me in all aspects. I didn’t care about being pretty, though people seemed to think I’d grown into my looks. I did care about my intelligence.