Destiny by Celia Breslin

My attacker pinned me face-first to the trunk, grinding an erection into my backside.

Panic and pain pierced my gut. Oh, hell no. I struggled to free myself, my power eager to fry the

bastard. But a familiar wintery power slid under my skin and doused my fire as if it were a weak

matchstick.

Warm breath teased my earlobe. “Hello, pet.”

I froze. Fuck me. Dixon.

He nipped my ear lobe with wicked sharp fangs. “Miss me?”

“No.” The cut stung. Blood trickled, warm and wet, down my neck.

“No? I’m hurt.” Jolts of icy power secured me to the tree trunk while Dixon’s skeletal

hands roamed over my body.

“Back off, you undead wanker,” I snapped, refusing to surrender to my fears.

He chuckled. “I do so love it when you speak my language, my little kitten.”

The world spun when he flipped me around and lassoed me tighter to the trunk with his

power, his lean, tall body caging mine. Head lowered, gaunt face too close, his silver eyes shone

like moonlight. Mesmerizing, seductive moonlight.

Shit. He was trying to compel me. Very few vampires could do that, and they had to be

old. Unfortunately, Dixon was as old as Stonehenge. Maybe older.

I lowered my gaze to his thin, blue-black lips. They curled up in a creepy smile under my

inspection, crinkling the lightning bolt tattoo streaking across one hollow cheek. He circled one

long fang with the tip of his tongue. “Come now, pet. No more words for your favorite admirer?”

Anger almost had me hurling insults at the bastard but I clenched my teeth. You’re bat

shit crazy, and I’m going to kill you if I can get my hands free.

He slipped a bony finger under my chin and tilted it upward, trapping my gaze again. I

met his challenge for two whole seconds before pain closed my eyes. He’d likely dislocated my

shoulder with his aerial stunt, and so far my vampire quick healing genes had failed to fix it.

“Oh dear, is my favorite toy broken?” He poked my shoulder hard, chuckling when I

cried out.

“Bastard.” Moisture beaded on my forehead, and nausea knotted my stomach. I should

puke on the smug jerk. That would teach him.

“Here my pet, let me help.”

“Don’t touch—”

Pain clogged my throat as he reset my shoulder with surprising medical precision.

He slid his hand over my repaired shoulder and down to the curve of my waist. “There,

all better now.” His hand inched lower and squeezed my ass.

“Back off, perv.”

“Hm. Still spicy I see. Very good.”

He leaned into me until his erection pressed against my belly. Inside my power paced like

a caged tiger, roaring and swiping at the metaphorical bars Dixon had placed around her. God,

how I wanted to grab his head and fry him, starting with his too-perfect, spiky platinum hair,

then his tattooed face and on down until he was nothing but an ash statue standing in his studded

leather boots.

My anger surged. I bucked against his hold, hating his gaunt body plastered to mine, his

cigarettes and leather scent searing my nostrils, just…hating him.

He trapped my arms above my head and rubbed his cheek against my forehead. “Yes,

move like that kitten. Right there.” He lapped at my bleeding ear. “Don’t stop now, my lush little

Bile burned my throat, making a bid for freedom. “Screw you.”

“Oh, yes. Quite soon in fact.”

Panic ripped my gut. “Never.”

“Forever,” he shot back.

 

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