Midnight Lies (Shifter Island #2) - Raye Wagner Page 0,28

getting the better of me. Wolves were not made to fly.

The trees thinned, and Rage paused, looking left and right across a dirt road where a lone shack remained, leaning into the destruction as if mourning. After confirming the area was all clear, we bolted across the street, my hand still in his, and then tucked behind the shack where a tarp hung from the crude hut, its edge staked into the ground.

‘What are we doing? We need to go the other way.’ I nodded to the woods.

Rage knelt in the ashes and ran his hand through it, searching the ground.

What in the name of the Mage Mother—?

He grinned as he plucked something up, and my confusion disappeared. He produced a small dagger and wiped the hilt on his pants before offering it to me. ‘There used to be a weapons dealer here.’

Now, that’s what I called romantic. I slid the weapon into my belt at my lower back, and we stole back into the woods and then raced to where we’d been, the underbrush still trampled from where the canoe had sat. Tracing our way up the path to the narrow opening that led to the cliff, I felt my insides churn.

“Here we are,” Rage said, squeezing my hand.

I gave a nervous chuckle. “How did we get here so fast?”

I waited, still clinging to his hand as he slid around the narrow corner of the path, and then I followed. We inched down the trail and out onto the cliff face, and I closed my eyes and leaned into the wall of earth behind me.

Mother Mage, I am going to vomit.

“You’re nervous,” he observed, and my eyes popped open to take in his cocky grin. He slid in front of me, shielding me from the open air and steep drop, pressing his body into mine and sending heat up my spine.

“I can’t believe you’re afraid of heights,” he rumbled, fitting his body to mine. He pressed tighter into me, the length of his torso moving in tandem with mine as we breathed. Running his fingertips up my arms, he threaded one hand into my tangled hair. “Don’t worry, Nai.”

I craned my neck up to glare at him. “Fear is a healthy response to this insane plan. If you land wrong, the water will break your neck.”

He chuckled and cupped my face. “Good thing we heal quickly.”

What? I blinked at my—clearly—crazy mate. “That’s it? No pep talk? Just … ‘heal quickly?’” My voice rose several octaves as I hyperventilated. “Rage—”

“Hush, my love. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.” He brushed his lips against mine, and my mind fritzed.

Holy shifter babies. He just called me his love. Yum.

Rage pulled back just enough to loom over me, and then he stroked his thumbs up my neck, tilting my head back.

My breaths grew shallow, and I licked my lips, suddenly filled with a very different type of anticipation. I swallowed. Hard. Forgetting the fact that we were about to leap to our deaths and focusing solely on the fact that my mate was sexy as all hell.

“Are you trying to distract me?” I asked, my voice breathy.

His green eyes brightened, and he grinned.

“Is it working?” He chuckled, sending a rumbling vibration through me. Lowering his head once again, he spoke with his lips hovering over mine: “I love getting a rise out of you.”

Each word caressed my lips, and I had zero control over how my pulse thrummed under his touch. He drew back too soon, and I licked my lips again, wishing for more. I wanted time with my mate—alone time with him with no pressures or demands on us. Just for an hour. Or maybe double that. Or more. Probably more.

Well, we had a few more minutes before jumping to our deaths, and since he’d offered himself up as a distraction…

I slid my hands up his chest and then, clinging to him, looked up at him through my lashes. Something deep within me, a primal urge seized me, driving for—Mother Mage—completion of our mate bond.

My breath quickened, and the rest of the world fell away.

I want him. Hell, I need him.

He groaned and grabbed my waist. His eyes darkened, and his gaze dipped to my lips. When his fingers inched up the hem of my borrowed t-shirt, he grazed my skin. “Do you—” He sucked in a ragged breath. “—feel that?”

Every feather-light brush of his skin against mine was delicious agony. I wiggled my body closer, tighter, to his.