The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity #2.5)(11)

He grinned. “I’m easy, too.”

She matched his grin, and his cock surged forward.

“I can smell your need,” she said with surprise, studying him every bit as intensely as he was studying her. “I can see it, yet you do nothing.”

Oh, he wanted her. He wanted her very, very badly.

“Say the word,” Shandor growled, “and I’ll do everything.” Please, please, say the word.

Her smile turned nasty, taunting him. “I have a male,” she said. “Several, actually.”

Unfamiliar jealousy hit him like a ton of bricks and he didn’t much like the feeling. Before he could stop himself, his arm shot forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Using his hold on her, he yanked her up against him.

“Fuck your males,” he said hoarsely, cupping her breast and squeezing the soft flesh.

She sucked in a harsh breath and growled low. “Release me,” she demanded, “before I rip your heart out through your throat.”

Damn, he hadn’t wanted to grab her in the first place. Okay, that was a lie. He’d wanted to, and he’d tried to control himself, but something inside of him was refusing to let her go. Even knowing that attacking a fat? who didn’t want his attention was wrong, he still couldn’t seem to let her go. Rational thought had begun fading the minute he’d lost control over his sexual impulses. Not only that, the urges were baser; he wanted to control her, to claim, the need coming from deep within him. His body was literally demanding hers.

Every part of him screamed, berating him to take her, to throw her down and force her into submission whether she wanted it or not. Shandor swallowed it back, trying to fight the urges, trying to fight the monster inside him that wanted to make this female his.

“I can’t,” he rasped, twitching as his muscles continued to fight against his will. “I can’t stop.”

Her leg shot out from under her, and her foot connected with his groin. Howling with pain, he released her instantly and she jumped to her feet, then took hold of the tree branch above her. Using both feet, she swung and kicked and with a heavy thud, her bare feet landed square in his chest.

Shandor hit the earth hard, breaking several bones, including his spine. While he lay there, groaning as he healed, the female swung down from the tree and pounced on him. The other Skins, having heard his fall, had abandoned their meal in favor of him. There were nearly a dozen of them gathered in a circle where he lay, all ready to tear into him.

“I said,” the female growled, “hands off.”

She was strong. He’d give her that. But he could kill her. Hell, if he wanted, he could kill them all with one wave of his hand.

But he was a Romani, a Gypsy, a man who’d grown up in a clan nearing one hundred souls, and never once had he been alone or on his own. Now, after what he’d become, his family would never accept him. They’d kill him, or worse…he would kill them.

But these Skins…

He could have a clan again. A family again.

And if it meant he got to f*ck the shit out of this fat? as well…

He glanced around at the circle of angry red eyes, all waiting on her. She was their leader. Even the males looked to her.

Shandor felt his skin ripple with anticipation of the fight and the reward.

Wait, what was wrong with him? This wasn’t him. He didn’t hurt women.

But she wasn’t a woman. And he was no longer a man.

And if he didn’t want to live alone any longer, he was going to have to take her down. Show his dominance in front of the entire pack.

He felt the need for power rear up inside him, felt the seductive adrenaline rush that followed it, and he looked her dead in her glowing red eyes. “I heard you,” he said, jumping to his feet.

Using his inhuman strength and incredible speed, Shandor lunged forward and grabbed her upper arms. Clutching her to him, he spun around in the opposite direction and took off running. He ran as fast as he could until he’d felt he’d put enough distance between them and the rest of her pack. Shoving her face-first against the nearest tree, he kicked her legs apart and…

Shandor couldn’t stop his magic, couldn’t contain it, and he knew his eyes had turned black. His entire body could feel the darkness rearing up inside him. It spread like wildfire through his blood before bursting from his skin and creating a protective circle of black-streaked flames around them.

“You don’t get to make that decision anymore, fat?,” he growled. “I do.”

Sinking his fangs into her shoulder, he pushed himself inside her.

By the time her pack caught up to them, he’d finished and was working through their second round. She’d long since submitted and was now purring like a kitten, her ass in the air, begging him for more.

The feelings he’d derived from this triumph were nearly indescribable. Euphoria raced through him, better than alcohol or any drug. He felt like a king. No, f*ck that, he felt like a god.

Grabbing hold of the female’s hair, Shandor yanked her head back. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

“Tahyra,” she replied, her voice a throaty growl.

“You’re mine, Tahyra,” he told her, then looked to the rest of them, staring at him with wide, astonished eyes.

“She’s mine,” he repeated. “You’re all mine.”