Rapture Untamed (Feral Warriors #4)(40)

The man was shredding her. Stealing her secrets and her will, digging up emotions and vulnerabilities she'd shut out eons ago. Worse, he kept taunting her with glimpses of something sweet and rare - a closeness, a trust, a caring - that could never exist.

Not with Jag.

Not with anyone.

From the moment Jag walked into her life, he'd been systematically ripping it to shreds. She wanted it to stop. To be over. She wanted away from him, as far away as she could get.

But would he let her go? And, more importantly, would he let her go with her life intact? She just didn't know. The man she sometimes glimpsed deep inside him wasn't cruel. He wouldn't destroy her unless he thought he had to.

But that man wasn't always in control.

And the Jag she knew was a contrary beast.

For now, she was stuck with him, her fate in his hands. Unless she ran.

But running had never been her way.

Jag let the hot shower soak his hair, washing away the previous day's dust even as he wished he could somehow turn himself inside out and rid himself of the bile that ate at his insides.

What was the matter with him?

Olivia was getting to him, that was what. There were times when she looked at him that he could swear she saw all the way through him. Right down into the cesspit that acted as his heart.

There were times when she went soft on him, and all he wanted to do was hold her against him, listening to her heart beat against his. Then the bile and bitterness swirled inside him, and he couldn't get away from her fast enough.

He didn't want her soft. He wanted her strong. Tough. Angry.

The thought brought him up short. Why did he want her angry?

For half a heartbeat, he didn't know.

Her accusation came back to him.You can't stand for anyone to like you. You need them to hate you as much as you hate yourself.

Bullshit. Life without a little conflict bored him, plain and simple. Watching the anger spark in Olivia's eyes pleased him.

Did it? Did it really?

Hell, he didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. He'd never been so uncomfortable in his own flesh as he had since Olivia arrived.

Grabbing the soap, he lathered his body, raking at his skin with his fingernails.

Goddess, sometimes he wished he could claw his way out of himself and leave his skin behind.

Olivia meant nothing to him. Nothing but a little sex play, a little healthy conflict.

But even as he tried to convince himself of that, he ached to feel her in his arms again.

His flesh warmed to the memory of the way she'd clung to him, deep in the throes of that wild release. Feelings had assailed him in those moments and the ones that followed, emotions so strong he'd found himself clinging to her as strongly as she had to him. Feelings of tenderness, and protectiveness, and a need to hold her so razor-sharp he'd feared it would puncture his heart.

He'd wanted to stay like that, his nose buried in her shampoo-fragrant hair as he cradled her against him, stroking her precious head.

Self-disgust had him slamming the soap down in the tray so hard he broke the bar.

That remembered feeling of weakness made him grind his teeth together. The reason he antagonized people, the reason he pushed them away, was because he didn't like these soft-ass emotions. In fact, he hated them.

And what was wrong with that?

Nothing, dammit, that's what.

He washed his hair and shoved his head under the water to rinse it clean, turning the water temp to biting hot.

But the sudden needle pricks that dug into his skin had nothing to do with the water.

He stilled as recognition slammed into him. Olivia was feeding. Hard.

Jesus. Someone had to be attacking her!

He flew out of the shower, flinging water droplets every which way, nearly skating across the slick bathroom tile as he wrenched open the door, a heartbeat away from shifting and tearing out the throat of the sucker who dared try to hurt her.

But he came to an abrupt halt as he turned the corner and found her, not in a fight for her life but sitting cross-legged on the bed, fully clothed, her laptop in front of her.

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"What the f**k do you think you're doing?" She'd scared the shit out of him.

As she looked up at him in surprise, the needle pricks disappeared.

She looked confused. "I need to feed, Jag. I didn't suck hard."

He took an angry step forward. "The hell you didn't."

The look she gave him turned dismissive. "Jag, I've been doing this for centuries. I think I'd know if..."

A scream outside silenced her, lifting her to her feet as she flew for the window. Jag followed her, peering through the sheers over her head at the woman racing up the stairs. He glanced down at the walkway outside the room and understanding slammed into him. A young man lay sprawled across the cement. Unconscious. Or dead.

Olivia swayed, bumping him gently, and he grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him. Her face had drained of all color, her freckles stark against the pale white of her skin.

"Easy, Red." Again, he used his gift to push a cooling calm into her instead of heat.

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"What happened?"

"I did this. I have to go out there. I have to help him."

"What can you do other than look guilty?" He gripped her shoulders tighter. "Can you do a reverse action on that feed of yours?"