Devourer of Men (Devourer, #1)

by Nikki St. Crowe

“What was your grandmother in for?” I ask, because details matter and because a bloodthirsty granny is exactly my type. Unless she has freckles.

“Show me,” he demands. “Show me the cock Wendy Darling chose over mine.”

I should be sleeping but I’m high on blood, cum, and curiosity.

“When I kill you,” I tell him as my chain hits the carriage floor, “I will make it violent.” His eyes narrow. “What did you say?” I used the ancient language. The language of the Bone Society. The language of monsters. I wink at him. “It’s an old saying. It translates to, ‘Thank you, kind sir.’” Close enough.

“I’d say you need more than handcuffs, but I’m not in charge.” “I do love a good bondage party.”

They are opposite sides of the same coin, one heads, one tails. One handsome and desperately elegant, the other unassumingly dangerous, sharply beautiful.

Innuendo fucking intended.

“Why don’t you seem worried?” he asks. “Worrying is for nuns and rabbits.”

“You are impossible.” “I think you mean impeccable.” “No I don’t!” “Perhaps impenetrable? No that’s not right either. I am definitely penetrable.”

“If you know how to properly knee a man in the balls, you will never be without a weapon.” And I’ve held on to that all these years later.

I was always the rose bush, both soft and sharp.

If you are not charmed by his charm, or enraptured by his beauty, you are terrified of his power. It’s impossible not to be alert when the Crocodile walks into the room.

“The fact that you never concern yourself with consequences⁠—”` “Is impressive?” I cut in. “No.” His scowl deepens. “Worrisome.” “Ahh. That was going to be my seventh guess.”

“Why are you toying with me?” The question was meant to sound accusatory, but instead it comes out sounding like a plea. “If there was any part of you that didn’t want to be toyed with, it wouldn’t be so fucking easy. Now would it?”

Every part of my rational brain is yelling at me to go, but the primal side, the disastrous side, the empty, hungry, desolate side, can never seem to walk away from him.

“You get six words. More. Harder. Stop. Slower. God. Fuck. Now stop being so difficult and let me take care of you. All right?”

“One,” Roc says, “you come over to the bed and you join us.” My mouth drops open. “Two, you sit in that chair and you watch.”