Wanted Angel - Sadie Moss Page 0,11

yawning as if he just woke from an hours-long nap.

“I’ll go check the security footage. Make sure everything looks good, test the alarm systems, all that.” He grins down at me. “Make yourself at home, babycakes.”

He saunters out of the room, hands shoved in his pockets, the picture of languid ease. Sawyer plops down onto the couch in his place, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling.

Ford rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna take a fucking shower.”

He really should. He’s covered in dust and scrapes and blood. His blood, I suspect, because I don’t think gargoyles bleed like regular supernaturals do. They’re made of living stone, after all. They’re more likely to crumble than bleed.

“Let me know if you need anything!” I call after him. He could use some help with his bandages afterward, if he needs bandaging.

Ford grunts in acknowledgment, nodding as he strides out of the room.

Huh. I think he’s actually starting to warm to me.

An outside observer might think he warmed to me right away, what with the whole almost-having-sex-against-a-wall thing, but despite our attraction toward one another, that whole incident started because he was mad at me. He was convinced I’d been sent to seduce his brothers, and he was determined to get me to admit it.

But after the Blackfire Tournament, a lot of things changed.

For one, we had sex that didn’t begin as an argument. And for another, he openly admitted that he wants to protect me. That he cares about me.

That he trusts me.

He didn’t make a whole big flowery speech about it or anything, but he’s not really the big speech type. He communicates more with his actions than his words, and he’s shown me in a lot of little ways how he feels about me. Honestly, the fact that he’s willing to accept my help with something like patching him up after a fight is a pretty big deal for a guy like Wrath.

I watch him go with a sappy grin on my face, then settle back on the couch next to Sawyer.

The room suddenly seems very quiet in the absence of six of the sins. It’s just Sawyer and me left.

I look over at him. His reddish-brown hair gleams in the light as he stares up at the ceiling. It doesn’t seem like he’s contemplating the paint job up there so much as avoiding my gaze. He’s been wrapped up in himself ever since our visit to the witch. Ever since Valentina spoke to him.

There wasn’t a lot of time to unpack it all while we were running for our lives, but I know that what she said affected him, and I want to help.

“You feeling okay?” I ask quietly.

Sawyer snorts. “Of course I am. Don’t tell me you fell for Valentina’s bullshit back there.”

“It’s not bullshit.”

“It’s nonsense.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s not nonsense if it clearly affected you.”

Sawyer turns his head to look at me, arching an eyebrow. “I really don’t think this is any of your concern, angel.”

I shrug. When Sawyer turns on his lust power, he’s like a freaking magnet—it’s impossible to resist the pull. But right now, he’s doing the opposite. He’s trying to keep me at arm’s length, pushing me away so hard I can almost feel it like a physical force.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” I say simply. “But I’m here to help you, if you want. We can talk about it. Having someone see through you that clearly and be able to… to curse you like that, it can’t be easy to deal with. I just want to lend my support.”

Something glints in his amber eyes as he cocks his head at me. “Mmm, you really are a sweet thing, aren’t you?”

On a dime, he switches tactics. Instead of a push, he turns it into a pull. I can feel heat starting to pour through me, and I realize that Sawyer’s using his power on me, just like he did when we first met. He’s flooding me with lust.

Logically, I know that.

Logically, I know he’s using his power as a defense mechanism, just another way to keep his walls up. He’s using it as a diversion because he doesn’t want to let me see any more of who he really is.

Logically, I understand exactly what he’s doing.

But the thing about lust is that it’s the antithesis of logic.

My breathing becomes shallower as arousal spikes in my veins, rushing to my head and frying my brain cells. I turn to face him, my thighs spreading,