Cursed to Kill

It was either kiss her or rip out her throat.

The words his mother had written so infuriated his demonic nature, Cian couldn’t combat Miranda’s innocent interrogation. Each benign question she asked stoked fury he couldn’t control, and as he looked at her, he had been possessed by the stark need to kill. Instead, he fed the beast inside the only other satisfaction it would have—a dose of unchecked lust.

Miranda froze beneath the assault of his mouth, her shoulders rigid, her spine stiff as an iron rod. He was being too harsh, too inconsiderate. If he wanted her participation—and goddess above, he needed it to temper the hunger of his dark spirit—he must find a measure of control.

Easing far enough away he could look into her eyes, he let go of the fierce hold he had on her neck and dropped his hand to her shoulder. Confusion filled her big brown eyes, but behind the unspoken questions radiating there, an ember of desire glowed. That solitary coal gave him encouragement. If he played this right, he could walk out of here and she would still be alive.

For tonight, at least.

He could return after his birthday, when he had fulfilled the words written in his mother’s hand-drawn runes.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

Drawn to the delicate length of her neck, Cian stroked his thumb over the strong pulse alongside her neck. Savage thoughts flickered again, filling his head with visions of wrapping his fingers around her throat. Telling him it would satisfy his soul, even more than making love to her would, if he slowly choked the life from her fragile, mortal body.