14. Dark Forest （Micah）

14

DARK FOREST (MICAH)

I hate crossing guard duty like hell.

No, not because I'm always risking getting cooked under the sun like an egg on a griddle.

I just feel like an absolute dumbass, standing in the middle of the street with my Officer Friendly smile plastered on while I wave kids through the crossing.

It always feels so out of character, even though it's a comfortable fa?ade. More of the act that lets me exist here, embedded in Redhaven like I truly belong.

I'd bribe Lucas Graves into taking my shift, but he's got his hands full as a new dad, so here I am. Grinning like an idiot at a gaggle of elementary school kids at the light, their faces sticky with the ice cream pops they just bought from the truck on the corner.

"Skelly man's so cool," one boy whispers under his breath to his little co-conspirator.

That goofy grin on my face gets a little more genuine. After a lifetime of shitty nicknames and whispers, I don't mind this one so much.

I'd rather look like a bone-white skeleton man to these kids than something repulsive.

Hell, maybe I'd mind it even less if I had kids of my own.

If I could look at these little rug rats and think, Yeah. That. I want that in my future, my own little mini-mes scampering around, making messes everywhere and looking up at me with those big, trusting googly eyes and calling me Daddy, believing there's nothing in the world I can't fix.

If I'm being honest, I've never given much thought to settling down.

I'm not sure what I'll do once this case gets settled.

The idea of a wife, kids—am I too hollow for that?

Will I have enough soul left to spare after I've made Xavier and the Jacobins pay? And what woman would want an empty shell of a man?

I don't know why I'm thinking this shit.

Only, I do.

I know every goddamned reason why.

Talia's coming over tonight, and I'm already itching to get my hands on her.

It's like thinking about her summons her when my phone vibrates.

I glance at the foot traffic, the few cars coming through, and retreat to the curb, watching the light the entire time even though my shift's over in four minutes anyway. I still wait for every munchkin to get across before I read my screen.

Talia: Just left Xavier's. He was a total asshole creep. But get this! Eustace Jacobin showed up. She gave him a camera. Does that mean anything to you?

My blood becomes ice water.

The street fades into nothing.

A camera .

A fucking camera.

This is it. The missing link.

I'll bet my life that's Brian Newcomb's camera, and not only does it have incriminating evidence on it, it is incriminating evidence in and of itself.

If Eustace had it, I was right all along.

I just need to nail down proof, and they're all going to hell.

It means everything, I send back quickly. I'm off work in a few minutes. How soon can you meet me?

There's a pause as she types.

Talia: I need to wrap up a few things with Grandpa, but I can be at your place in an hour.

Bring your camping gear, I reply.

Talia: We're going out again?

I'll explain when you get here.

Looks like we'll be having dinner on the go tonight.

She just sends back a quick heart emoji and a face making the OK symbol.

I glance up, looking around the street one more time to make sure it's clear and I'm good to leave my post. The time it takes me to walk back to the station, drop off a quick report, and clock out early—with Grant watching me the entire time—feels like a goddamned year.

Soon, I'm in my patrol car, heading home.

My head spins fucking faster than the tires.

I can smell what's coming. Something big.

And leave it to Talia to deliver the goods. Getting her involved was the right move, after all.

She's done plenty, though. It's high time to let her step back, before she winds up endangered.

Bringing her along with me tonight?

Whatever.

That's only because—if I have to admit it—I want her company.

I'm home, changed, and almost done packing my own gear for a one-night hike when my doorbell rings.

There's a little déjà vu when I answer and find her there in a cute flannel shirt and jeans again. This time, it's faded pink and black plaid. Her backpack looks smaller and sensible. She's a quick learner, and she smiles so bright it's blinding.

"Hey." She leans up to kiss my cheek. "Ready to go?"

I'm not used to people being happy to see me.

I frown.

Something's off.

I reach down to brush back a strand of fiery-red hair that slipped free from her messy knot.

"You're upset."

"I dunno." Talia's eyes flicker as she glances away. "Upset, that's a pretty strong word—"

"What happened?"

"I…" She sighs, glancing away. "How about I'll tell you while we walk?"

That worries me.

I nod, though, whistling for Rolf and reaching for his leash.

"Let me get my stuff and we'll head out."

I'll tell you while we walk turns into I'll keep changing the subject .

I can't begrudge her when she's still the same slice of strawberry shortcake she's always been. The way she lights up as we make our way through the trees is alluring as hell.

I don't have the heart to kill her enjoyment.

Not when this seems new for her, an outing she practically revels in, darting between plants, startling squirrels, and sometimes Rolf, too.

By the time they end up falling together in a pile of fallen leaves, Rolf's tongue hanging out happily, I've given up on getting anything out of her until we settle in for the evening.

If we settle in at all.

This is a scouting job.

I'm familiar with the Jacobins' usual patterns, but now I wonder if they'd do something new to shake off any extra scrutiny after Newcomb's body was found.

Makes me wonder why they didn't just dispose of it. Then again, they can't risk feeding their victims to the pigs anymore. That's old hat.

Guess they decided it was best to just let it look like a clumsy out-of-towner had a terrible accident on the cliffs.

I lead Talia down a spiraling path through the hills surrounding town. I can't always explain what I'm looking for when I start trying to sniff the Jacobins out.

It's not like they leave any markers or trash in the trees when they're so careful.

It's just a feeling I get.

A scent.

As we head northeast of the big hill where the Arrendell mansion looms, ice crawls down my spine.

Call it a premonition.

Someone's been through here recently.

Could've been hikers, yeah, but I don't think so.

They don't wear farm boots, and farm boots leave a certain imprint when they bend and break the grass.

While Talia skips on ahead to look up at a giant cobweb stretched between several tall trees, I bend down and study the broken grass clumped together.

Rolf crouches next to me, cocking his head like he sees something significant.

From the hint of yellowing on the blades, I'd say this happened last night.

Lifting my head, I scan around slowly until I find what I'm looking for.

A few leaves, torn free from a low-hanging branch about shoulder height. A perfectly good height for a grown man to fit.

Someone shoved their way through while the branches and twigs caught on their clothes and then snapped back with some ripped foliage. Half-torn bits still cling to the stem while the rest fluttered to the ground.

That way .

I slip two fingers between my lips and whistle.

"Talia, through here." I toss my head toward the small opening in the trees.

Breathless, flushed, and lovely with her blue eyes sky-bright, she comes bounding over. Every step makes her chest sway and strain against the pink plaid.

"You found something?"

"Maybe." I loop Rolf's leash around my hand and duck under the branches. "Follow me. Stay close."

She's more subdued as we slip under the canopy. The sunlight filtering through the trees forms a strange mosaic around us.

I let silence reign, keeping my attention on the trail, looking for those little telltale markers that say someone's been here—a snapped twig, a single homespun thread on a bit of flaky bark.

Eventually, I can't stand it.

"So are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Ah?" She sounds startled. I glance back to make sure she didn't trip, but she's just looking at me guiltily. "Oh. Right. Um…"

I stop, turning back to face her. She stumbles and pulls up short in front of me but doesn't resist when I reach for her hands.

Rolf shifts between us, looking up at her with soft eyes.

"Talia," I whisper. "Whatever's wrong, you can tell me."

"Can I?" She stares at our clasped hands, her fingers curled loosely in mine. "Xavier came on to me pretty hard today. I was thinking about you during a creative meeting and I guess I spaced, and he thought… he thought I was mooning over him or something. He grabbed my face and was leering at me—"

"He grabbed you? That fuck touched you?"

Violence flares in my blood.

My hands burn like I can already feel his throat.

It's settled. If I ever get the chance, I'll tear it right out.

"I kinda ran away. I almost had an asthma attack," she continues. "That's when I saw Eustace give him the camera. She was waiting for him, I guess, and he followed me outside. I think he was trying to explain it away and make what happened feel less creepy. I don't know."

Goddamn.

If we were any closer to the Arrendell mansion, I'm not sure Xavier would be alive tonight.

My hands clench tighter.

I barely stop myself before I crush her hand.

My jaw tightens until there's an audible pop from the joint.

I have to hold still, or the rage boiling over will turn ugly and I don't know what I might do.

Not to Talia, no. Never to her.

But the urge to leave her and storm that hill, straight to the house of horrors, is almost too strong.

She won't quite look at me now.

Her guilt seems to intensify as the silence yawns between us.

"You're not telling me everything," I say tightly. "What else did he do?"

"What?" There's a panicked flutter of her pulse against her throat as she shakes her head quickly. "Nothing!"

"Then why do you look guilty?"

"Because it's my fault, Micah!" she hisses. "I let my guard down. I was so caught up in you, I gave him an opening—"

" No ." I drop her hands and cup my palms against her cheeks, leaning in to firmly look into her eyes. Her hair tangles over my fingers like a siren's coils.

Her wide blue eyes lock on mine, startled.

"Listen and listen good. You are not fucking responsible for what he does. I'm not angry at you, Talia. I'm furious at him . I want to dismember that disgusting fucking creep for thinking he has any right to you. But you? You didn't do anything wrong. I won't stand here and let you blame yourself for one ounce of his bullshit."

She just looks at me, the confusion clear on her delicate features.

"You're sure? You're not mad at me?"

Again, I'm reminded how fragile she is.

For all her iron backbone, for all that she's fought to find her way and make her own life after a childhood plagued with asthma, she's so inexperienced with this world.

So young.

So unsure of herself, even with me.

And it makes me painfully aware of how easily I can hurt her.

That's why I do my best to stamp my anger down, shoving it into those dark awful places where I keep the worst parts of myself.

Closing my eyes, I lean in and press my lips to her forehead, lingering to murmur against her skin.

"I'm sure," I say. "I'm not mad at you. I could kill Xavier about fifty different ways, all of them torturous, but I don't blame you. Not in the slightest."

I'm not prepared for the way she hugs me, pressing her soft, yielding body into me. She buries her face in my shoulder.

"I was so scared. That freak, he just… I didn't know what to do. I just knew I couldn't be alone with him, and I had to get out of there."

"Good move." I curl my hand against the back of her head, stroking gently. "I don't like the idea of you going back there. Can you take your grandfather with you?"

"Probably not a good idea," she mumbles against my shoulder. "But I can try talking to Mr. Peters again. Ask him to just stay in earshot when I'm there?"

"You think he will?"

"Yes, I think so." Her fingers dig into my shirt. "He seems like he cares."

"You're selling me more on reaching out to him."

"You haven't yet?"

"No." I shake my head, settling in to just hold her. "With this kind of investigation, you have to be delicate. Find the right moment. Considering how rarely the staff leave the big house, if he slipped out for a secret meeting, it would draw attention. I'll have to catch him when he's out running errands."

"Don't they come down for groceries and stuff sometimes?" she asks.

"The shops mostly deliver to the house, but every now and then you'll see a maid or valet at the store."

"Next time I'm there, I could do it." Her voice quivers, and that anger simmering inside me burns that much deeper. "I could—you know—drop a hint. That the next time someone needs to run an errand in town, it should be him."

"Only if you can do it without drawing suspicion. Be careful." I kiss the top of her head, then pull back enough to look down at her. "You feeling up to more walking?"

Talia lifts her head, looking around, taking in the trees around us and the sunlight through the leaves.

It's not hard to tell her previous enjoyment of the beauty around us is dulled, diminished.

I fucking hate Xavier even more for that, for taking the shine out of her.

"Sure," she says, straightening her clothes and stepping back. "What are we doing out here, anyway?"

"Looking for the Jacobins' next cook site. I caught a trail about a hundred yards back, and we've been following it." Impulsively, I reach over to catch her hand, holding it tight as I turn to lead her toward a break in the trees—another bit of crushed grass and scuffed leaves showing me the way.

Rolf pants as he settles into a steady pace at my side.

"I need hard evidence I can use to get a search warrant for the Arrendell mansion. Unfortunately, your word isn't enough, especially when we can't confirm the camera Eustace gave Xavier is the one I'm looking for."

Talia stays close as we squeeze through the trees. "Why are you looking for a camera? I thought it might be important, but I didn't know you already knew there'd be one."

"The dead hiker. Brian Newcomb." I pause to push a low-hanging branch up so she can duck under it. "His girlfriend said he was out taking photographs, but we didn't find a camera on his body or anywhere near where he camped. Though we retrieved his phone, there's nothing on the camera roll that hints he uses it for his photography much. Mallory found a few selfies and did a deep dive on the data, and nothing's been deleted recently. So I think the camera might have incriminating evidence."

In the pocket of shadow under the boughs, her eyes almost give off their own cerulean light, wild with comprehension.

"Which means the murderer probably took it…"

"Yeah," I confirm, leading her deeper into the trees.

We're quiet as we walk and our hands stay locked.

It should be awkward, uncomfortable.

I'm not used to being with a woman who needs me this close when we're together, who always wants to touch me.

Hell, you'd think I'd find it clingy and annoying, considering the women I used to date back in NYC—icy, withdrawn types who were distant by nature.

Exactly how I liked it then, their bodies freely accessible and their hearts walled away.

Not Talia.

She practically hands me her heart like it's a kitten and begs me to be gentle.

How do I keep something so soft without breaking it?

I'm still pondering that as we break into a clearing near the crest of the hill we're on.

Rolf's ears perk as he turns his face up to the sun.

Even my breath catches as we turn back to look down at the splendor of the valley below.

Redhaven really is goddamned gorgeous, sitting pretty as a painting cupped in the palm of these woods.

All red gabled rooftops and steeples, its cobbled streets laid out like the spokes of a wheel. Still Lake glimmers, this shining mirror throwing back the sky's liquid gold.

I slide my phone out and take a picture.

Something to remember this town if I leave.

When I leave.

Yeah, that's coming.

It's starting to get dark by the time we move on.

I start to get that tingle down the back of my neck again.

It tells me we're close, and I slow down, creeping through the trees and holding my finger to my lips to keep quiet.

Sinking lower, I conceal myself more among the trunks, and she mimics me. Her footsteps are painfully loud as she follows, but she's moving as quiet as she can, barely raising a whisper of noise.

There.

A break in the trees. More disturbed earth up ahead.

I motion for Talia to stay put as I slip closer, hiding behind a thick tree trunk and peering through the gap.

Right on target.

The ground slopes down to a small valley.

There are dozens of pockets like these through the hills, some densely wooded, some filled with ponds or creeks, and some clear. This one was clear-cut by logging ages ago, and it's been untouched for so long that some of the saplings have started taking root.

Except those saplings are pulled up, piled along one side, stripped of their branches and waiting to be laid out to pave a makeshift road.

The usual cover of dead leaves has been swept aside, leaving bare earth.

The old logging trail looks reopened, too, the overgrowth trimmed back for a path just wide enough for a truck.

There's no one there now, but just in case, I edge back silently and make my way to Talia. She's tucked between two tree trunks, making herself small.

She watches me like a nervous deer as I draw closer.

"They've been here recently," I whisper. "Cleared the area for setup. They'll probably roll in and put down stakes tonight. We should find a good spot to camp and wait."

Talia nods slowly. "Will this be different from last time, though? What kind of proof will give you a warrant?"

"Not sure yet."

I take her hand, twining my fingers in hers and pulling her up before I lead her deeper into the woods.

We need to scout out a good camping spot.

Rolf's paws whisper against the fallen leaves as he patters at our heels.

"Frankly, I could've taken down the Jacobins alone a while ago. Clue the guys in and set up a raid when they're at one of these sites. Bring in Raleigh PD to surround them before they pull their disappearing act. Only, that would leave Xavier flapping in the wind, wild and free, and he'd just find someone else to take their place eventually. In all these years they've never given me any concrete evidence linking them to each other. All I can do is wait for my moment."

Talia goes silent behind me, her steps dragging.

I stop, glancing back.

"What is it?"

She stops and stares down at her feet. "Cocaine. That's how Xavier makes his money, isn't it?"

"One of many ways. He's also involved in some shady foreign real estate investments and a few failing private capital ventures. Though I suspect they're fronts for other dark money."

"Wait, that means…" She pulls at her lower lip, her delicate face so crestfallen it looks like she's about to cry. "The money for Grandpa's treatment. It's coming from the same crap that killed your brother."

"Maybe," I admit slowly. "You can't beat yourself up over that."

"But it's filthy, Micah. Blood money."

Goddamn, I hate the tears in her eyes with a vengeance.

I also don't know where this urge to comfort her comes from.

I haven't had a nurturing bone in my entire life. Think I used it all up bandaging my brother's wounds at an early age, along with my own.

Somehow, Talia just brings it out in me. She's huddled in my arms again.

"I see it differently. By doing something good with that money, you're making it clean. We can't undo what's already done. You not taking his money won't change where it came from. At the very least, it can help save your grandfather."

Yes, I know. The more I talk, the more ethically grey it sounds.

No, I don't fucking care.

Truthfully, I don't know how Talia lives like she does.

Taking so many things to heart, feeling everything so much.

She's practically vibrating with emotion as she leans into me, her small fingers curling against my arms.

There's something about the weight of her, her softness, her curves, the way she fits into me. It's more than just gritty desire for her flesh.

The way she quivers when I touch her.

The way she smells , vanilla-sweet and heady.

The way she feels so damn right.

I don't mind holding her as long as she needs, but after a couple minutes she pulls away and flashes me a brave smile, wiping one eye.

"Let's keep moving. We need a place to crash before the mosquitos come out," she says.

Our campsite goes up next to a small creek running through a break in the trees.

There's just enough room to build a fire and lay down our sleeping bags. No tents tonight.

Working together—while Rolf hops around in the creek like the big mess he is—it doesn't take long to dig a fire pit and start working on a quick dinner.

We've got time to kill before the Jacobins' usual late-night work starts. I want the fire banked by then, no fresh smoke or cooking smells to give us away or scare them off.

So we toast flatbread with cheese over the fire, talking casually while we eat.

As Talia finishes licking a bit of melted cheese off her finger, she looks at me. "Hey, do you think you could send me that pic you took of Still Lake? It was really good."

"Sure."

I dig out my phone and text the photo to her.

When her breast pocket lights up and jitters, she pulls her phone out—and I catch a glimpse of the new text notification on her lockscreen.

Vampire Man sent img.png

I raise both brows. "You saved me in your phone as Vampire Man ?"

"Um." Talia freezes, looking at me sheepishly with her phone clutched in both hands. "…guilty," she whispers with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry?"

"Uh-huh." I lean back on my hands, just watching her. "Why did you do that?"

"I just… you know, the first time we met—"

"You mean when I gave you mouth-to-mouth in the middle of town," I growl.

Her face flashes pink.

She swallows loudly, nodding.

"Yeah. That time. It sorta felt like waking up from a dream. This beautiful man with sharp teeth and a red mouth hovering over me… I used to be a huge Anne Rice nerd. And Grandpa had me watching old Dark Shadows reruns from the time I was five."

"Uh-huh." I never take my eyes off her. She's squirming now, and there's a predatory pulse in my cock that loves every bit of it. "Have you thought about me biting you, Talia? Harder than last time? Do you want to be marked?"

"Marked? O-oh." Breathy, soft, and she's already saying yes without really saying a single word. She can't look away as her lips gleam and her little tongue slips over them. "Maybe. I mean, you bit me before, but you were being gentle."

"That's not a yes or a no," I tease.

Leaning forward, I prowl toward her.

Every last little vulnerable thing about her jumps out at me in the fire's glow.

One minute, she's this innocent angel who warms me with a light I can't describe, who makes me feel like if I wanted, I might learn how to have a life again.

The next minute, she's prey, plain and simple.

Her nostrils flare.

Her breathing quickens.

It's like I can see her pulse thudding against the fragile skin of her throat as her eyes dilate, locking on me with wonder.

When she trembles again, I'm fucking gone.

Forever drunk on this woman.

My inner beast inhales deeply, intoxicated by her scent.

Fuck, her scent.

Vanilla heaven, mine for the taking.

My lips burn, aching to show her what being marked truly feels like.

Closer. Closer , every slow movement makes her tremble more until I'm right on top of her.

She whimpers as I stop, almost nose to nose with her, our eyes locked.

There's more than rich vanilla rising off her now. This aromatic sweetness like pheromones, heady and stinging sharp.

"Yes or no, Talia," I breathe. "Do you want me to fucking mark you?"

" Ohgod ."

One word. It comes out in this small, shaky rush.

Then her eyes close and she slumps toward me like her bones forgot how to hold her up.

She's shaking like a leaf.

Her hands knot together in her lap, her lashes trembling against her freckled cheeks.

I'm waiting.

Impatiently, I'm waiting for this fragile, inexperienced girl to tell me no.

To tell me to stop frightening her and talking like a weirdo.

To push me away and ask why I can't be normal, why I even want to bruise her just to leave a jealous mark of ownership.

To know why I need something else, something darker than last time, something lasting.

Only, it never happens.

Instead, Talia rolls her head to the side, this soft jerk of quivering submission.

My blood goes electric.

She reaches up to pull her hair free from its loose tail, shaking it down in a waterfall of cinnamon red fire, drawing it over her shoulder to one side to fully bare the long, smooth expanse of her throat.

" Yes ." It's such a faint whisper I can barely hear it, yet so husky with desire.

Everything about her feels intensely erotic. Painfully inviting.

I don't think she has the slightest idea what she's doing to me.

I crave her.

I fucking need her like the storybook vampires that make her wet, but it's not her blood I'm after.

It's breaking her.

I need her to break for me, beg me to claim her in the sweetest ways.

My mouth dips to her neck.

Her vulnerable, slender throat waits, but some last thread of restraint holds me back. Slowly, I trace my lips over her ear, listening to her rough, uneven breaths.

"If I bite you," I snarl into her ear, "I won't be able to stop myself from marking you all over."

She lets out another soft whimper, completely overwhelmed before she sways toward me.

"Then mark me. Even if it hurts. Cover every inch of me."

Fuck. Me. Senseless.

I have to close my eyes for restraint.

Otherwise, I'll pin her to the dirt and rip her clothes to shreds right now.

Just one minute.

Just a few precious seconds to remember I don't want her to regret this.

Then I open my eyes again, fixating on the wild beat of her pulse, leaping like it's fighting to break past her skin.

My tongue traces my lips in furious anticipation.

My entire body throbs, my cock swelling with vicious desire until it's almost angry, straining against my jeans.

I want her under me, screaming and pleading, torn between delicious agony and sheer ecstasy.

I want to be her living fantasy.

I want to taste her.

I want to ruin her for every other man.

Bowing my head, I graze her throat with my lips, breathing in her scent.

Then I part my lips and sink my teeth in.

My teeth aren't sharp enough to pierce, of course.

But they're just sharp enough that her cry is instant, and it makes my cock rage.

"Micah!" Her voice cracks on my name.

Her back arches, her head falling back.

Her skin is smooth cream against my lips, my teeth, my tongue.

Now I can feel her pulse, stampeding against my mouth.

Her body betrays her. She loves it.

I half expect her to push me away as the reality sinks in.

As she realizes this might hurt.

Instead, her arms slip around my neck and her fingers tangle in my hair.

She pulls me closer in abject surrender, begging with her big blue eyes.

Mark me.

Make it hurt.

The last thread of self-control snaps.

Catching her wrists, I pull her hands from my hair, then shove her down against her sleeping bag, forcing her on her back.

My teeth only leave her throat for a second.

Just long enough to catch her startled look.

Long enough to see how flushed she is, her nipples hard against the thin undershirt under her open flannel shirt.

Snarling, I pin her to the ground by her wrists, my body weighing her down.

As she arches, sliding against me from head to toe, teasing my cock with her leg, I fucking do it.

I strike.

I find the pink red mark where I bit down before and suck hard, pulling tender flesh between my teeth, thrusting my knee between her thighs to spread her open.

There's nothing gentle this time.

Not when I'm greedy as hell.

Nothing tender in the brute way I seize that mouthful of her flesh and bite down harder, harder , all while she writhes.

I drag my body against hers roughly, urging her to lift her hips, to rub herself against me, to spread herself open and find her pleasure.

The sounds she makes are pure sex.

They put a spell on my cock, and when I feel her skin stretching to its limit, her mouth opens.

Talia screams.

Pure, sinful pleasure.

I should silence her.

We're out in the open, stalking the Jacobins, and if they show up early and wander off their path for some odd reason, they'll figure out we're here real goddamned quick.

Still, I want to hear her.

I want to know how she cries out for more, the way she whimpers my name, the way her voice hitches and breaks as she crashes against me with breathy heat between fear and pleasure.

Yes, I'm fucked up to love this so much. No question.

To be so turned on by painting her skin.

But what if my sickness is also hers?

She's not fighting me, not pulling away, not telling me to stop with her voice dripping with horror.

Instead, she clings to me, her nipples so hard and her breath coming in ravenous gasps as I lick at the bite mark, trailing my teeth over her skin.

Rasping, I push the collar of her flannel aside and leave another imprint.

It's feral and hot and needy, and suddenly I can't get enough of her.

I rip at her clothing, tossing it aside into the leaves, exposing more skin to mark. She's just as frantic with her fingers digging at my shirt and then at my naked flesh as I fling my top and jeans and boots aside until we're nothing but wild animals in the raw.

I barely even register the delicate, pale violet-pink lace of her panties, her bra.

Even the sinful sheen of matching stockings, the wicked side this timid girl hides under her clothing like a secret gift just for me.

Not when I need her creamy skin so much.

Not when I'm this fucking hungry .

Today, she's my canvas.

And it feels like I'm undoing every terrible thing my father did, the things I hated, the pain I never asked for.

Ugly pain and hatred, that's not this.

The way I mark her?

The way she begs for it?

There's no hate whatsoever here.

No abuse.

Nothing but absolute desire boiling over as I bite her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, savoring her reaction.

She tosses her head and pleads, "More, more," while I defile her with bruises.

She's too fucking beautiful.

This pure woman, welcoming me wholeheartedly, when all I know how to do is hurt to show my love.

It's like she understands, though.

She knows and she isn't just tolerating this like it's the price of being with me.

No, she wants it.

She wants me.

She wants everything I give, and as that realization sinks in, I lick a hot trail up her inner thigh and bite down hard at the soft crease where her thigh meets her pussy.

I find wet, clenching folds and slip my fingers inside.

Of course, she's ready.

So ready , gripping like a girl possessed.

Her inner walls suck my fingers while her whimpers make me frantic.

"Micah," she begs. "Micah, please !"

One more goddamned minute.

I let her suffer just a moment longer.

I'm torturing myself too when I'm so hard I could fucking die, and the feel of her silky skin against me is torture.

Still, I hold off on biting down harder, harder , even as I plunge my fingers in and out, feeling her tighten and grip me so desperately, chasing that shivering rush of her breaths that means she's so close to—

There!

I stop right before she unravels, right as she gives me the roughest whimper, begging to let go.

"Not yet, woman," I growl. "Hold the fuck on."

I slip my fingers out of her with one last sweep of my thumb over her clit, then replace my fingers with my cock.

Hands under her thighs, spreading her open, I lift her up.

Then I plunge down, mounting her with a single hard thrust, wild and rough and holding nothing back.

I kiss her just as brutally until our lips taste like bruises and our bodies crash together.

Fuck, I can't hold back.

Clutching her closer, I take her hard, plunging into tight depths that envelop me in the burning pleasure of her flesh.

Pain slices down my back—her nails.

She claws at me, just as wild as I am, rising up to meet me.

This frantic pace turns us bestial, two animals fighting to find out who comes first.

We clutch our bodies, rolling, thrusting, building to a tortured frenzy.

The movement feels like sword thrusts, and I only crave more violence.

More!

My hips slam hers faster, harder, chasing something always out of reach, pulling her with me, taking us both higher—no.

Taking us low.

Down into the nameless darkness, the strangest heat, the thrill that shouldn't be right, yet can't be wrong when we're in this together.

She's flushed scarlet with passion.

Her eyes are dazed and nearly closed, yet there's no doubt there. No fear.

Only raw pleasure and sheer surrender to the end.

And when the end comes, it's a fucking cataclysm.

Volcanic.

A finish made from vicious lashes, dragging me down in jolting rushes as I bury my cock so deep, so deep , and fucking fill her.

I come so hard my vision blurs.

I mark her inside the same way I did to her skin, making sure she feels me pouring into her and painting her with come.

Her greedy pussy wrings every drop from my balls.

She takes it with a moan, wrapped around me, still begging even as I see that beautiful instant when she collapses.

I feel it as her legs lock around me, milking every last shiver from my body, torturing me and dragging a groan from my throat.

Together, we're two monsters in heat, hell-bent on sating our lusts.

Lust.

Is that still what this is?

The thought barely has a chance to settle before she pulls me down with another needy kiss.

Then the last screaming wave of pleasure roars over me and robs my senses blind.

"So, I've made a decision," Talia says as she sprawls on top of me lazily. "I'm going to need more high-necked shirts."

I've barely left the haze of animalistic sex and I'm laughing. What the hell is going on?

I don't know what I expected after that.

Tension.

Silence.

Regret.

Maybe for her to be horrified that we were capable of being so crazy, so violent. It wouldn't be the first time.

Usually, when it happens, I gladly take the blame—like I brought out something in her that she couldn't believe was actually part of her, the ability to enjoy being hurt that way, so it must be something I did to corrupt her.

With Talia, who's barely just lost her virginity, I should have taken more time.

Should've built up to this and eased her into it.

It would've served me right if she'd called me an animal and pushed me away from her.

Instead of flopping bonelessly against me, rubbing her cheek to my chest like a contented cat, teasing me about high-necked shirts.

In the firelight, she's all amber and cream. The flickering flames wash over her naked body and make her skin glow in soft contours before plunging down into gold-lit shadows that accent her like a piece of fine art.

The marks I've left behind, they're dark reddish-purple bruises. Mostly in the shape of my teeth where I branded her.

She shivers in my arms.

I maneuver us so we're lying on her sleeping bag, then stretch one arm out to grab my own and drag it over us like a makeshift blanket. I feel like I should fish out the little first aid kit and swab over her bites with a little antibiotic salve just to be safe.

Soon.

Let me savor this first.

Talia makes a happy sound, nosing at my shoulder.

"Better?" I ask.

"Mm, yeah. Just cold," she answers, folding her arms on my chest and propping her chin on them, watching me with her eyes twinkling.

"Because you're naked and sweaty," I point out.

"And how did I get that way?" She grins, tapping her fingers on my chest.

"By showing me your throat, calling me a vampire, and asking me to ruin you," I growl. I give her ass a crisp smack that makes her squeak. The first time I saw her collapse against the town square, I never would've imagined she could be such a brat. "You're okay?"

Talia blinks at me.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Damn. I guess I'll have to be blunt.

"Woman, I just pinned you down, bit you to hell and back, fucked you hard enough to make you scream. I wouldn't let you up until you were begging for more." I arch a brow. "Most people talk about safe words before doing that shit."

"Oh, y-yeah. Good point." She gives me that cute little stammer when she's startled and nervous. It gets to me, almost as much as the way she tongues her upper lip in thought. "But it was fun. I liked it. It was exciting . I never get to do exciting stuff that scares me. In the good ways, I mean. I never have, I mean."

I frown. "You're saying I scare you?"

"Well, yeah! But, like, it's not the kind of scared you're thinking." She's so serious, giving this her utmost attention, those pretty blue eyes focused. "I'm not scared of you hurting me, not for real. I'm scared of my body falling short. I'm scared of taking a risk with you and no matter how much I want it, my lungs give out and tell me I'm not allowed to just jump and see where we might land. I'm scared, yes. But I'm doing it anyway because I've spent my whole life avoiding living." She smiles, soft and heartfelt. "I won't be scared of being with you."

The way she says it sounds like she means more than just sex.

That she's not just risking her body with me and satisfying my need to hurt beautiful things.

She's risking her heart and challenging my need to shut down. Anything that demands I be real, be present , be part of someone else's life instead of an actor moving through their scenery, never intending to stay.

I don't know what to do with that, what the hell to say.

I just know I'm going to break this girl's heart.

Because I don't know how to be with someone who looks at me the way she does.

Because being damaged makes me exciting , but not enough to be good for her.

So I reach up to brush her tangled hair back. It runs over my fingers like copper silk, reminding me of blood.

Silent, searching for words, I tuck her hair behind her ear.

I have to say something. Anything .

I part my lips, and—

Rolf's head jerks up.

While we were going at it, he'd dozed off on the other side of the fire, the most tactful wingman ever.

Now his ears are up. His gaze snaps toward the site I scouted earlier.

He's got that old tension that strips the years away from him until he looks like a police dog again.

I go stiff. Talia does, too, blinking at me harshly.

"What?" she asks, a note of hurt in her voice before she follows my line of sight toward Rolf. Then that hurt turns into understanding. " Oh ," she gasps. "Do you think…?"

"Only one way to find out, and it requires clothes."

We glance at each other for a few more seconds—and despite the heaviness when I didn't say the right words to shelter her heart, we can't help how our lips twitch.

There's a small snicker before we kiss and then scramble apart to grab our clothes from the near-wreckage of our campsite.

Her flannel shirt landed half an inch away from becoming kindling. She rescues it and wiggles into her jeans while I get dressed.

By the time we're done, I hear what Rolf must've noticed first—the faint rumble of engines.

Multiple engines.

With a long look, we slip into the trees with Rolf trotting after us.

To her credit, she's gotten better at stealth, crouching behind me as we speed toward a small break in the trees to look down over the new cook site.

It's déjà vu as we hunker down, watching the old, grungy military trucks and pickups come rolling in.

No headlights tonight.

Their license plates are covered in black cloth or removed completely.

There are six of them this time, and they file into the clearing and circle around, forming a perimeter. Swarming like locusts, the Jacobin clan pours out and starts unloading, rolling out sheets of aluminum and tall wooden stakes and crates of equipment.

It's almost impressive how fluid they are.

In minutes, their little stand of sheds start popping up like weeds.

But they don't have my attention right now.

Because there's one more car tonight.

A long black town car, glossy and clearly expensive.

I'd bet my bottom dollar that car belongs to the Arrendells.

No one else in town keeps luxury cars like that, though now and then when the part-time retirees hit town they come in their high-end SUVs.

That's definitely Arrendell style.

The front plates are also covered.

Damn.

Fucking please, I think. Please let him be in that car.

The car parks at the entrance to the clearing.

The headlights flash briefly, then cut out. I can't quite see who's behind the wheel, but the back passenger side door swings open.

My heart stops, expecting Xavier Arrendell to step out.

No luck.

It's Eustace Jacobin and—Chief Bowden?

"Holy shit," Talia curses softly at my side. "I still can't believe it." Her whisper sounds tiny.

Too bad I can.

I reach over to grip her wrist lightly, reassuringly, but say nothing.

Focused, I unfold my compact binoculars from my pocket and press them to my eyes, trying to peek inside the car before the back door closes.

There's no one else in there.

Fuck .

I scan over their crew.

Looks like business as usual—hefty barrels of liquid chemicals, large pallets, and metal cisterns are rolled into another shed under halogen lights strung along cords and hooked to freestanding car batteries.

Everything unmarked, of course.

Nothing incriminating from a distance.

Even if I took photos of the bushels of coca plants, any small-time lawyer could pass it off as moonshine materials.

Eustace Jacobin and Chief Bowden have their heads together, talking while they watch the setup, but I can't read their lips enough to work out what they're saying.

Crap.

Looks like this is going to be another useless stakeout.

Nothing incriminating, not without revealing myself.

More than once, I've been tempted to steal a brick of their product, but that won't do anything useful.

I wouldn't be able to prove where the coke came from.

Too bad doing everything aboveboard with proper chains of evidence makes it damnably hard to catch the fucking rats.

Sighing, I lower the binoculars. "No Xavier. I—"

"Hang on a sec." Talia grabs the binoculars.

Blinking, I watch as she strains forward, staring at something.

She's tense now, her body rigid, and she jerks her head up, staring at me with wide eyes.

"It's him, look!" she whispers, thrusting the binoculars back at me. "Joseph Peters. He's the one driving the car."

The car's pulling away as we speak.

I've only got a few seconds before the view through the front windshield vanishes through the trees.

I snatch the binoculars and look, squinting at the driver's seat. Sure enough, there's a man. Trim, neat, with short brown hair and a tired look on his face.

"You're sure? You're positive it's him?"

She nods quickly. "We've talked several times. I know his face."

"Jackpot," I whisper, lowering the binoculars with a grim realization. I'm about to blow Redhaven apart, and possibly Talia's life, too.

"Micah? What now?"

"Now, I need to have a good, long talk with Mr. Peters."