“It’s not time yet, you fool.”
“Time for what?”
“Destiny to be fulfilled.”
“Well, screw it. I’ve waited thirty years for this supposed destiny to happen,” Caine snapped. “I’m getting tired of empty promises.”
The Were released a warning growl. “Are you questioning my authority?”
Caine bit back his angry words, realizing he had gone too far. Swallowing his pride, he knelt in a gesture of submission.
For now, he needed the disturbing Were.
But someday…
“No.”
“Remember this, cur, if something happens to Salvatore before my plans are complete, I’ll skin you alive and feed you to the vultures.”
There was a blast of cold air and a hair-raising scent of evil, then the Were seemed to simply melt into shadows.
Caine counted to one hundred, then added another fifty just in case.
Once he was certain he was alone, he turned his head to spit in the dirt.
“Someday, I’m going to kill that bastard.”
Harley woke to a pounding head, a dry mouth, and her body wrapped firmly in the arms of a warm, delicious Were.
For a demented moment, she snuggled closer, lured by the heat and rich male musk that would entice any poor woman into helpless stupidity.
It was only when Salvatore’s hands slid down to cup her ass and he pressed her against his hardening erection that she painfully came to her senses.
Was she completely mental?
With a shove that sent Salvatore flying onto his back, she scrambled to her feet and glared down at his smug smile.
“Do you always grope unconscious women?”
He folded his hands over his stomach and crossed his legs at the ankle. He should have looked ridiculous lying on the cement floor, with his raven hair tousled and his expensive suit wrinkled. But he didn’t.
He looked…edible.
The bronzed, stunningly beautiful features. The full, sensual lips. The whiskey-gold eyes.
A delectable male, from the top of his raven hair to the tips of his Italian leather shoes.
“Only those who crawl all over me in their sleep,” he said. “If anyone was violated, it was me.”
The worst part was that Harley couldn’t be certain she hadn’t been violating him. Her body seemed to have lost its connection to her brain.
“God,” she muttered, as annoyed with herself as with Salvatore. “Get over yourself.”
In one fluid movement, he was on his feet and standing directly in front of her.
“I’d rather be over you.”
“Enough.” She abruptly turned from the smoldering invitation in his eyes, her palms sweating. “I have more important things to worry about than a dog in heat.”