God of Monsters (Juniper Unraveling #4) - Keri Lake Page 0,96

climax, legs drawn up, while he pants between moans. Tipping his head back once again, he whispers, “Thalia.”

My stomach clenches at the sound of my name on his lips, a tingling rush exploding beneath my skin.

In the next breath, white ribbons shoot up from his cock, his abs flexing as if pumping out every drop of his release.

Watching him climax, that feral side of me flares to life once again. Two weeks ago, I hated the way this world seemed to be so focused on owning and impregnating women, but my thoughts about Titus as of late have proven something more biological and primal is at play out here. They’re all trying to survive, to keep from becoming a dying species, the one way they know how--by producing offspring that will carry their memories and legacy into the future. It’s become clearer to me, the longer I’m on this side of the wall. After all, children are a symbol of hope. Succession. Existence.

In the absence of having to worry about my survival, I was free to dream of other things, like becoming the first female doctor of Szolen. I could be selfish with my pursuits because time wasn’t limited by stronger, opposing forces. Here, it’s different. The people on this side of the wall literally have to seize every moment in life--some more violently than others.

My encounter with the Rager brought me to this understanding. How quickly everything comes and goes, and the world keeps spinning, in spite of it. There’s no time to dream of selfish things.

Even if my goal is to return to that life someday, I need to ensure my survival up until that point.

I need Titus, now more than ever. I need him to see me as more than a traveling companion. As something valuable to protect.

It’s a plan that goes against every fiber of my being and everything I’ve come to know about Alphas, but if there’s one thing this world has taught me, it’s this: in a land of monsters, survival comes before everything else. Even pride.

If I was a bolder woman, I’d step out from my hiding spot and go to him. Instead, I slip back into the shadows, scarcely daring a breath, as I pad quietly back to my room.

I opt for a thin cotton tank top, not only for the insane heat of the day, but because it clings to every curve of my breasts. It’s not that I’d consider it natural for me to flirt with a man, by any means, but hearing my name on his lips the night before has somehow emboldened me. It’s removed all traces of doubt, regardless of what he tells me. The shirt is subtle enough, with the temps rising in the nineties, that he might not notice, at all, but if he does, it might serve as an invitation without me having to say the words aloud.

I exit the cabin to the back, where Titus stands swinging an axe around as if to loosen his muscles. It’s day two of our training, and I’m all too eager. At breakfast, I tried not to stare at him, but after seeing him sprawled naked, I’ve begun to notice things I didn’t before. The tiny mole on his cheek, just above his jawline. The scar that crosses over his cheekbone. The creases at the corners of his eyes that crinkle with even his slightest smile.

The band at his throat that I’m determined to remove today.

I remember a gypsy from Szolen once told me that unexpected kindness is the surest path to someone’s heart, and if I want this Alpha watching my back for the long haul, it seems I need to balance the scales a bit. Make him see me as something valuable, instead of a risk.

When he turns to face me, his broad, bare chest is already shimmering with the sweat of his workout this morning, and I can scarcely breathe.

There’s something utterly magnificent about Titus in dawn’s light. He’s an ice cold drink on a sweltering desert afternoon. The kind with frost on the glass and perfectly square ice cubes just begging to be plucked by the tongue.

Jesus, I need to stop staring.

Across the yard, Yuma sits gnawing on a log he must’ve stolen from the stack of piled wood.

I hold up the tool I scavenged from the utility drawer in the cabin--a long skinny metal pick with a wooden handle that I think might’ve served as an ice pick, and a small steel