When She Tempts (The Fallen, #2)

by Gabrielle Sands

The first glimpse of snow is always exciting, but by the time it’s late February, you’re sick of the cold and ready for something new. Martina, though… That girl is summer, through and through.

When our eyes meet, the all-encompassing numbness recedes for a brief moment, and an electric charge runs down my spine. He’s so vivid…like a splatter of color against a grayscale canvas.

“Every object under my protection is of immense value, Martina.” Having his attention on me is like being under a spotlight. Suddenly, the car feels too small. It shrinks even further when he leans over and adjusts his jacket, tugging on the lapel to make it engulf me even more. “And you might just be the most valuable of them all.”

I am not used to being the talkative one. In fact, one of my hobbies is letting silence linger and seeing how long it takes for people to become visibly uncomfortable. It’s a surprisingly amusing pastime.

I don’t know what possessed me when I got into her bed. Madness? Pity? No, something else. Something I’m incapable of naming, because how can you put a word on something you’ve never felt before? That small body of hers pressed against mine felt like coming home.

There’s a connection between us. A thread that’s been pulling me to him from the moment we met, and no matter how he denies it, my gut tells me he feels it too.

“I’ve lived for a long time, piccolina,” he rasps. “Nearly twice as long as you. Never in my life have I met anyone who hides so much wickedness behind an innocent face like yours. Your mind seduces me. Your body tempts me. A single glimpse of you, and I lose my train of thought. I become completely absorbed in your presence.

There’s nothing of that empty girl I picked up from De Rossi’s in her now. She’s come alive. Flourished. Come into her power. And now she’s ruthlessly exercising it over me.

“I’ve craved you from the moment I saw you, and I promised myself I’d carve that craving out of me. But the deeper I cut, the deeper you burrow. I’m afraid that if I don’t stop trying to rid myself of you, I’ll end up cutting out my own heart.” “Then let go of the knife,” I say, my lips close enough to brush against his, “and let me mend you.”

Even the most broken of things can be mended by the right pair of hands.

“Come back to me so that I can give you grief. So that I can tell you all the ways you need to make it up to me. So that I can tease you and tempt you until you can do nothing but give in.”