Sin Undone

The question was answered when he stalked to her, all sensual energy and rolling muscle encased in faded jeans and a tight black tee. His lips came down on hers, and she opened for him, met his tongue as she plastered her body against him. Desire roared through her, flaming hot, hotter than it had ever been with anyone, even at the height of her need. This was different. As pure as the snow they’d made love in.

Con held her tight, and while his hands stroked her back, they didn’t stray. He dragged his mouth along her jaw, down to her neck, and then he kissed her there, right over her jugular. “That was stupid, Sin,” he murmured against her skin. “You shouldn’t have gone to Scotland.”

“We’re here, aren’t we? Where we should be.” His entire body tensed, and he pulled back. “Yeah. But—” His gaze dropped to her left hand, and he snatched it up. “What the fuck?” He was staring at her fingers—or more accurately, her missing finger. His voice degenerated to a guttural rasp. “What happened? Who did that to you?”

“I did it to myself,” she said gently. “I gave up my assassin master ring.”

“Oh, Jesus. We need to get you to UG—”

“There’s nothing that can be done, and you know it. It’s healed.” She waggled her fingers. “And I have nine spares.”

Con closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they were the somber gray of an overburdened rain cloud. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. You were right. Just because no one owned me didn’t mean I wasn’t a prisoner.” She eyed the full-sized bed that was pretty much the only furniture in the studio apartment, and tugged him toward it. “Now,” she teased, “I’m ready for you to do more of that foreplay thing you’ve been bragging about.”

He stopped her, halting suddenly a few feet from the bed. She turned to face him and sucked in an appreciative breath at the sight of him, his gaze dark and predatory, his fangs extended. He looked half-wild, wholly primitive, and, God, he was so hot. His nostrils flared and his lips parted, and she wondered what he was thinking.

A glance at his groin gave her a pretty big clue as to the state of his mind.

And that fast, she forgot about the foreplay, because she needed him inside her. Right now. She reached for him and he hissed. “Have you fed recently?” she asked, the idea that he’d taken nourishment from someone else punching her in the gut. Of course he’d have to. The addiction issue would forever keep him from being able to dine on her. Well, he’d just have to settle for bagged blood, because he was not sticking those fangs in anyone else. “Con?”

“No,” he rasped. “I’m hungry, Sin. Not just for blood… for you.” For her. He wanted her. He didn’t just need her; he wanted her, the way he’d made her admit to wanting him. A startling jolt of joy kicked her pulse into high gear, but it was cut short by a blast of heat and desire that came off him. Lust tore through her in a twisting, writhing tangle, and she moaned. Her vision alternately sharpened and blurred, and the scent of the aroused male in front of her flowed through her like an aphrodisiac syrup.

She took a step toward him, but her legs went rubbery and her feet felt glued to the floor. Weakness meant she was so far gone that, at this point, she didn’t have the strength to even make it to a Harrowgate to find a male. Good thing Con was here, good thing he was who she wanted, and good thing he liked it rough.

Sin Undone





Twenty-three


Con stood with his back to the door, so close to it he could reach behind him, open it, and run. Which, if he was smart, he’d do. But Sin’s pheromones had hijacked him, his lust was boiling over, and that, on top of the blood addiction, kept him frozen to the spot.

She moaned again, and the sound made his groin throb. “Con, now. It’s been too long.” “I know.” He took a step closer. He could have her. He just wouldn’t feed. And then he’d find a way to explain to her that she needed to stay away from him, or her life would be in danger. The logical thoughts slid like a drop of oil over a gallon of water, fragmenting, becoming slick and thin and lost as the more primitive instincts drove his body and brain. She tossed her head, flinging her hair away from her neck, and his line of sight narrowed, focused, filled with only her. The whoosh of blood through her veins became a beacon for his growing hunger. The pump of her heart thudded so loud it seemed to affect his own pulse rate.

“Now.” Another step. His brutal erection punched painfully hard against his zipper. Another step. She might as well be a she-wolf in heat, and the male warg in him couldn’t resist. He was starving, needed her so badly.

If I touch her, I’ll kill her.

Violently, he shook his head, shattering his runaway fears against the inside of his skull. “Please.” Her pheromones were clouding his head, making his heart pound and his skin shrink. His gaze locked on her throat. His lips peeled away from his fangs. Bite. Drink. Kill.

No! Reeling backward, he crashed into the wall. “I can’t.” She reached for him, and he hissed. “Don’t. Don’t touch me, goddammit!”

Sin recoiled, hurt flashing behind the haze of need in her eyes. “You want me to go find another male?”