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Luke Anthony was a simple beast, curse of the moon aside. He asked for very little: creatures to devour, excellent Wi-Fi, and a complete lack of human company, to be specific.
She was an intoxicating mix of autumn leaves, red velvet cake and chilled iron that had his cock hardening instantly—which was bloody inconvenient, to be honest. Public erections were, by all accounts, considered impolite.
She was his mate—not yet, technically, but still—and she was so beautiful, with her dark curls battling the hairnet and her round, midnight eyes that looked everywhere but him. She had full lips that she always chewed on nervously, skin like brown velvet, a little scar on her right elbow, and— The love of Luke Anthony’s life cleared her throat and said, “Good morning, Sir. What can I get you?”
This, you see, was the problem: Luke wasn’t so good with people. Or talking. Or talking to people. He didn’t usually care if he came off as threatening, or feral, or whatever—but this was Chastity. She was special, and shy, while he was an apex predator with a burning desire to sink his teeth into her arse.
Trying not to sound too eager, he asked, “Do you bake?” She hesitated for a moment before answering. “Allegedly. Does it count if you eat your own bakes before anyone else can see them?” He felt a huge grin spread over his face. Sounding exactly as besotted as he felt, Luke said, “You’re funny.”
According to his research, human women didn’t like being harassed 24/7. He still wasn’t 100% clear on how not to do that, but he was trying his best.
Her sisters were always talking about the huntress’s powerful instincts. Well, she was officially on the hunt, which made her a huntress. And her instincts were telling her to rip this sexy fucker’s clothes off, sit on his dick, and then carve out his heart. Or something. She was hazy on the details.
Ayinke liked this
Between the way she’d kissed him and the silver currently embedded in his chest, he was beginning to think that Chastity’s shyness wasn’t as straightforward as he’d assumed. Regardless, she was still funny, hot as hell, and great at making coffee. Altogether, he was pleased with fate’s choice of mate for him.
She looked up into the fanged depths of his gaping jaws and smiled. “I,” she purred, “am going to enjoy killing you.” Then she smacked the hilt of the dagger embedded in his chest, shoving it an inch closer to her target. Christ, she wasn’t shy at all, was she? The hesitation, the demure smiles and lowered lashes—it had all been a trap. She wasn’t sweet or gentle or biddable. She was a bloodthirsty fucking murderer. His heart sang.
“Sweetheart,” he growled into her ear, his breath against her skin making her shiver. “You need to get this knife out of my chest.”
One fake-date arranged with the intention of murder, a single short but excellent make-out session, and a rather passionate fight to the death did not a relationship make.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, folding her arms across her chest. He shrugged, and it was all she could do not to salivate over the breadth of his shoulders. “Obviously,” he said, “I’m stalking you.” God, did he have to sound so matter-of-fact about it? “Why?” she gritted out, horrified to find herself fighting a smile. She was not amused. She was irritated. No, she was worse than irritated; she was disgusted, horrified, and gripped by murderous rage.
“Don’t speak my name, monster,” she snapped, the words automatic. She regretted them a moment later. But he only smiled wider. “Are you trying to piss me off? Because I should tell you, all that does is get me hard.” “You’re depraved.” And yet, she liked it, her core tightening and her pussy growing slick at his coarse words. At his slight smile. At the sight of him. “What I am,” he said slowly, “is yours.”
When Luke had woken up that afternoon with a fucker of a headache and a trashed living room, his first thought hadn’t been to find and flirt with his mate. He’d intended to find and spank his mate for fucking up a perfectly good coffee table with her WWE shenanigans, and also to have a serious conversation with her about how loving couples shouldn’t stab each other.
Her jaw was hard, her eyes were narrowed and suspicious, and her cheeks were soft and round enough to bite. Gently. So here he was, plotting seduction instead of communication. Ah, well. He was a horny motherfucker and he’d never claimed otherwise.
“Do you feel guilty, Chas?” he asked, knowing that she did. Which was sweet, if unnecessary. She may have tried to kill him, but he was still alive, so he forgave her. Despite the concern swirling in her dark eyes, she cocked her head at him and studied him as if he were a cockroach. Then, after a beat, she said, “Nope.” He adored her.
And Chas, we both know you’re never going to attack me again. I’d be open to play fighting, though. You’re very sexy when you’re trying to remove my vital organs.”
But she wasn’t like him. Her life wasn’t cursed at all. “I need your sunshine,” he admitted, his voice soft. “You don’t need my darkness. I know that. But I’ll give it to you anyway. I’ll give you everything I have.” She dragged her teeth over her lower lip, a frown creasing her brow. And then she said, so low a human might not have heard, “The dark is just as lovely as the light.”
The words dragged a smile onto his face, the animal inside him howling in triumph. “I do something to you? And what, exactly would that be?” She glared. “You know what. For some reason, we appear to be attracted to each other.” He put a hand to her face, cradled the precious curves and strong bones the way his instincts commanded. And she didn’t pull away. “Attraction,” he murmured, “is a very pale description of the thing I feel for you.”
He feigned exasperation, even as his heart swelled. She’d admitted her attraction; she’d hinted at feeling more; and now, his bloodthirsty little murderess was openly reluctant to end his existence. Progress!
“So,” she said, “you mentioned that you’re an artist.” She’d been asking a lot of questions this evening, none of them related to his apparent evilness. He’d rather enjoyed it. “That’s right. The carvings, some sculptures, whatever.” He stirred harder. Apparently, his mate wanted minimum lumps in this batter. Therefore, he would eliminate all lumps.
Dad, of course, would adore Chastity. Like Luke, he enjoyed violently straight-forward women.
she didn’t miss the echoes of that awed reverence in his eyes, even as he said mockingly, “You’re covered in chocolate.” She arched a brow. “And whose fault is that?” “Don’t worry.” He swiped a finger over the swell of one breast without warning, collecting cake batter that was almost the same shade as her skin. Then, holding her gaze, he licked the finger. “I’ll clean it up.”
