Incarnate (The Marked, #5)

by Bianca Scardoni

Every day without him felt as though I were wandering lifelessly in a desert, fighting for my survival, slowly dying of thirst and knowing that there was only one thing—one person—who could quench that need. And yet that person forever remained just outside of my reach.

I knew I was playing with fire, taunting the flames with gasoline and a matchstick, but I couldn’t seem to care. All I could think about was that ache inside me that longed to be engulfed by his inferno.

It was nearly midnight by the time we made it to The Player’s Club—the strip club where we were supposedly meeting Dominic’s contact. Needless to say, I wasn’t happy about it. I mean, seriously? What kind of a necromancer arranges a meeting at a boobie bungalow?

It never mattered how hard I had tried to resist the alluring darkness of his eyes or how badly the world was disintegrating around me. I could always hear it calling out me—calling out to my own darkness and drawing me in like a demon to the underworld. For that reason, and so many others, I had long since stopped resisting the call altogether.

He was watching me, savoring me like a fine wine that he longed for but never allowed himself to fully indulge in. It was the same way he always looked at me. Like I was the last drink of water in a barren desert of tumbleweed and sand.

“I kind of thought it was obvious.” He chuckled darkly. “Nothing about you is obvious, angel.” He grazed his thumb against my jaw as he held my face in his hands. “You are a paradox, through and through, and I think I’d thoroughly enjoy spending the rest of my life trying to figure you out.” “Dominic Huntington, are you getting soft on me?”