“If we’re already damned like you claim we are,” he says low and dark, fingers digging into my cheeks. His face is serious but the corner of his mouth curls into a bitter smile. “Then killing you is not how I want to meet my death.” His mouth slams into mine. The kiss is unforgiving, feverish and I can taste the sweet tang of his blood from his split lip. The taste of him has me dropping all pretense, relieved that Wolfgang has cracked his mask open so I can do the same with mine.
