but I can see her eyes narrowing whenever she thinks we’re not looking.
I don’t give a shit about people knowing. But I know Katrina does. I try to minimize my staring as I think of a reason to get her on her own. My eyes swivel past the American flag hanging on the wall and towards the door to the hall.
In walks the stupid fuck who started all this. William Washington. I don’t know if I’m grateful or loathe him. I probably lean towards loathe.
The golden-haired schmuck saunters in with his sunglasses on and a jacket slung over his shoulder like he’s the best thing since the sauna got added to Hell’s entrance.
Yeah, Lucillania likes to be ironic like that.
He’s wearing a shit ton of cologne, and my nose crinkles as he passes. For once, I’m grateful not to have a tongue, because I’m certain I’d be tasting that putrid scent right now.
William Washington bypasses the open seat the popular girls left him, and my fists clench under the desk.
When that lanky little fuck—whose muscles are no bigger than water balloons—sits down next to Katrina, my hand goes around the metallic drawer handle on my desk and squeezes until I hear a satisfying little squeak and the handle dies a tiny death.
Fucker.
I watch as Katrina’s cheeks turn a soft pink, and her eyelashes flutter when William whispers something at her.
Wrong ear, dumbfuck.
I have to tell myself to breathe. I have to tell myself that Katrina’s already had enough trouble adjusting to Jason as a zombie-dog-man and that homicide isn’t a regular thing on my lovely’s to-do list.
Yet.
I’ve seen the way she looked at her parents back when they were still around, and part of me wants to help her change that. That little spark of fury in her glitters like a diamond and keeps me captivated.
And torn.
While I know that, logically, leaving her is the best move, I’ve seen her curiosity piqued by Hell. I’ve seen her succumb to us too many times to try to tell myself to walk away again.
Katrina shuffles her body in her seat so she can turn toward William, and I glimpse the palest pink between her thighs.
Instantly, I’m hard as a rock, wondering if those panties are cotton or silk, if they rub against her clit when she walks. I have to rein in those errant thoughts, or I’ll be walking around with a hard-on the size of Mt. Vesuvius.
Instead, I flick my eyes toward William. Immediately, my dick deflates when I see him smiling at our girl.
Ours.
The growl that rips through my mind is as wild and furious as Akor.
I slide back in my chair, pull open the middle drawer for pencils and other trifles, and drop the broken desk handle inside.
William’s hand reaches over and plays with one of Katrina’s curls.
“So, I was thinking about grabbing some ice cream after this. Maybe we could all go? Keep it casual?” he asks the group, but his eyes are solely on Katrina.
Vengeance. My power rises up in my chest, thrumming down my hands like the vibration of a guitar string.
Katrina’s soft blue eyes instantly dart to me, wide and worried, begging me not to do anything.
“Sounds awesome!” Tim raises his hand for a high-five that doesn’t come, because William Washington is fucking touching my mate’s neck, corrupting her with his putrid, convenience-store perfumed scent.
My chair scrapes the tile ground as I stand, not caring that I’m still half hard. That shithead needs to stop touching my mate.
Every eye in the room turns to me, and I can feel my horns threaten to pop. I can feel my eyes on the verge of going red. My wings press against my skin, begging to be released, to unfurl.
But tears fill Katrina’s eyes.
And my power stills. The vibrations stop out of nowhere, not even fading, just freezing as if time has stopped.
William tilts his head, cocking his brow and studying me as if something’s wrong with me, not him.
That arrogant little shit.
No one in Hell would dare look at me like that. Not if they wanted their family to live.
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to get my fury back, but…it’s gone. That’s never happened to me.
Never in all my centuries has my anger just shut off. It’s always been there, my power thrumming, this need for vengeance like a thirst that’s never quite quenched.
My eyes fly open and land on Katrina. I watch her reach up and slide a turquoise painted fingernail