Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,53

texture of his skin and the rough caress of the fine golden hairs on his arm. Men in the Echelon wore gloves and though she’d often seen Will’s hands bare, she’d never truly thought about the sensation of his touch.

Lena’s breath caught in her throat, a languid, liquid ache taking hold somewhere in her lower abdomen. Her gaze dropped to his lips. Harsh, chiselled lips that were drawn into a thin line now. A growl curled through his throat, eyes flaring molten gold with heat and hunger. Will’s hand clenched into a fist and the muscles in his forearm tensed beneath her touch.

“What are you hiding from me?” she whispered, and for a moment she wasn’t sure what she was referring to.

“Ask Honoria,” he snapped, and wrenching his arm out of her grip, he turned and strode toward the door.

***

Will curled his fists and punched the hard, leathery bag that swung in Blade’s boxing saloon. Sweat dampened his throat and bare chest, but all he could see was the bag. All he could hear was the meaty sound of his fists driving into it, again and again.

He threw himself into the routine, feeling the furious ache inside slowly begin to fade. He never quite lost that edge anymore, not with her in the house, but if he concentrated, he could find some semblance of control.

Christ. What had she been thinking to touch him like that? Her fingers sliding over the back of his hand as she looked up at him earnestly, those rosy lips parted.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched. Not like that. Esme had often given him a sisterly hug, but that was before she married Rip. Now it was easier not to push at Rip’s protective instincts. Rip might have begun to control his craving urges, but he always tensed up whenever Will and Esme touched.

But Lena… It was bad enough with her in the same house. Smelling her honeysuckle scent in every room, knowing that it came from her soap. Picturing it. The soap gliding over her pale, flawless skin in the bath. Over every relished curve…

Will groaned, his head bowing as he caught the swinging bag of sand and pressed his forehead against it. The leather was cool and smooth against his skin, but no relief. His cock ached.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Hiding from her. Running the rooftops at night, trying to use exhaustion to take the edge off him. The fury inside pulsed, pushing against his skin from the inside with razor sharp claws until he felt like it was going to cut its way out. He’d never once been afraid that he would lose control and slip into one of the berserker fuelled furies verwulfen were famed for. He’d learned control in an iron cage, under the harsh whip of the man who’d brought him for his travelling shows. But now it whispered darkly through him, itching under his skin, making him doubt himself.

He could hurt her. Kill her even. Or worse, be unable to stop himself from taking her.

“No,” he whispered in panic, taking a deep breath in until his lungs burned. “You’re better ‘an this. You can control this.”

Will let the breath out with a shaky rasp, then took another. And another. He wouldn’t think of her. Just keep avoiding her the way he had. Hell, push himself harder. Run faster. Push Blade into the boxing ring with him more often. It would work. He’d leashed the fury before and he’d do it again, even if he had to run himself into exhaustion every night.

Raking a hand through his sweaty hair, he pushed away from the punching bag. The edge was growing tighter inside him again. Leaning back, he put all his power into a swing, his fist hammering into the bag.

Sand spewed everywhere but at least it made him feel a damn sight better.

3

The questions ate at Lena all afternoon and well into the evening, when the rest of the house was stirring. She ate dinner in silence, listening to the laughter and conversation that swirled around her, feeling untouched by all of it. The only person who seemed to notice her distraction was Will. Occasionally their eyes would meet across the table before his gaze dropped back to his plate. A slight frown seemed etched between his thick brows.

Helping Esme to clear up the dishes meant that Honoria had escaped by the time Lena returned to the table. Blade was nowhere to be found either.

Will had