He made a gurgling sound in his throat. “What would be the point in saving you if I let you die now?”
My thumb traced his vertebrae. His knuckles gripped the handlebars until they were white. Right then, I noticed how I affected him. My touch controlled him. It was heady and powerful. Addicting. And my pull to him was a force I couldn’t fight.
“What do you want me for?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Every muscle was tense. Every syllable rough. Thick. “Not anymore.”
The adrenaline pumping in my veins had me feeling out of my body. I couldn’t deny I was extremely attracted to him. Of course, I hadn’t met anyone who wasn’t. But this was consuming. Burning me up. “Why is that?” Impulsively, I leaned forward, my breath grazing his skin.
“Jesus,” he growled, but didn’t pull away, a vibration rattling his lungs. “Kovacs…stop.”
I wanted to tip this man over, the ghost, the Wolf, the legend, making him as needy as I felt. My mouth brushed up his spine. “Thank you. For saving me. Helping me. For all of it.”
A guttural noise came from his chest, his hand clamping down on my thigh, his thumb rubbing over the crotch of my pants. Desire flooded me; I was throbbing and aching for more.
“Warwick,” I breathed. What the hell was happening?
I could feel his hands on my body, his breath gliding between my breasts, the heaviness of his erection pressing into me without him moving a muscle. Even more, I could feel his desire filling me. It wasn’t an idea or the way he gripped me, but a presence…entering me like a ghost, hitting every erogenous nerve, bursting pain and pleasure so blissfully through me, my breath stuttered.
“Fuck.” His thumb pressed through the material, rubbing along my folds. My mouth parted in a moan. I knew only one hand touched me, but he was everywhere.
My heart thumped against my ribs, an alarm ringing in my head, knowing this was not right. This couldn’t actually happen. But desire swallowed up my thoughts, a deep need overtaking me. Nothing about this was normal, but for some reason it felt right.
He curved around, his nose flaring, his eyes flicking over my shoulder before locking on mine like he was clawing at my skin to let him in.
In the distance, I heard a noise, but I was so hyper-focused on the man in front of me, all I could see was him.
“Kovacs—” I could hear a pinched note in his murmured voice. “I’m sorry.”
It was like someone cut a cord, the connection between us snapped, the sensation of him vanishing, leaving me cold and off kilter.
“I had no choice.” He turned away, climbing off the bike.
“What?”
A door slammed, jerking my head to the side.
In one second, the earth ripped out from under my feet. Confusion and terror flung me out into the atmosphere with no rope.
A man ascended elegantly out the back of a shiny, black Mercedes SUV, stepping forward. With a gasp, I scrambled off the motorcycle, my gaze taking in what my brain didn’t want to accept.
I had grown up seeing his likeness on statues, in paintings, and in fae society papers.
In person he was even more deadly handsome than claimed, and every bit the high fairy, with violet-blue eyes and sharp, chiseled features.
Killian, the leader of the Budapest fae, stood in front of me.
He had challenged the noble leader before him, the one who voted we part from the UN, and won. He was said to be so brutal and cruel, no one dared contest his seat since.
Tugging at the cuffs of his expensive dark suit, his eyes pierced me through the darkness. My lungs hitched; his power and looks forced me to step back. He was tall and built, with dark brown hair slicked back and a light scruff over his jaw. He appeared to be in his early thirties, but his aura held centuries of knowledge and experiences.
Beautiful. Elegant. Perfect.
And deadly.
Killian’s gaze found me, and I could have sworn his eyes widened for a second, but then I blinked, and it was gone. He again wore a composed mask of dominance.
“Warwick.” Like butter melting over a juicy steak, Killian’s voice was rich and smooth. “Glad we could finally make this deal. You made the right decision.”
“As if I had a choice,” Warwick spoke, my head snapping back to him. He stood near the front of the bike, his expression hard and angry, his jaw locking down.