Blood Lands (Savage Lands #5)(9)
Staring blankly at the four men sprawled across the bathroom, red liquid trickled past my bare feet, trailing to the drain. They were alive—though they wouldn’t be getting up for a while.
I wanted them dead, to feel their lives expire, their pulses weakening against my palm.
“Kovacs?” I heard my name, trying to tug me back to myself. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay where I was. Where there was no emotion. No conscious. No pain.
Let the darkness consume me.
“Brexley...” The power of my name curled and wound through me. His dominance forced my head to lift, my gaze landing on him.
The Legend. The Wolf.
Like the first time he found me in the bathroom at Halálház, Warwick stood inside the doorway, bloody and bruised, his knuckles cut open, looking as if he had fought his way to get to me. The string of unconscious or dead soldiers trailed a path to us, and it was only a matter of time before they came for us.
His aqua irises penetrated my barriers. Thick and corded, he dripped with feral virility. His power and strength dominated the room, soaking up the air, peeling away my skin and bones, finding the tiny bit of my soul still left inside.
His shoulders rolled back, his focus on me, ready for battle.
Except this wasn’t a battle of fists.
I saved his life, dragged him from the abyss, forced him to breathe, taste life, and see color.
He came for payback.
Chapter 3
“Fuck. You know how to make me hard, Kovacs.”
Warwick’s attention drifted over the unconscious, beaten bodies on the ground. A low growl vibrated in the air as he turned his focus onto me, shocking emotion through my entire body. You were never prepared for Warwick, and the ruthless way he seized and engulfed you, giving you no choice but to bow to your own downfall.
And my demise was my emotions, the burden of my actions, seeing the faces of my victims. Two lives were ended tonight by my hand. One I sacrificed to live, and one who sacrificed for me to live.
The image of my uncle engulfed me in so much agony, it felt as if our link was being seared off, and I had to carve out a bit of myself, dumping it on the dirt like pumpkin guts. I couldn’t breathe, wanting nothing more than to claw my way out of my hell. My lungs clenched, suffocating me.
“Warwick.” His name barely made it out, splitting between a plea and a warning.
“What do you need, princess?” His tone was direct, telling me he would be whatever I needed to help me survive the moment. A rock for me to hold on to or one I beat myself against.
“I need you. Make me forget.” I whispered hoarsely, not able to stand one more second in my grief. “I can’t breathe.”
His eyes darkened, the intensity drilling into me. Lust. Passion. Violence. It was alive, weaving and threading through the air between us. I don’t know how I ignored it before. How I thought it could be my imagination. The connection was subtle, but it was there, pulsing and needy, returning so gradually it was hard to recognize.
The ghost of his tongue licked between my thighs, causing a gasp to catch in my chest, snapping the last wall of my defense.
And his.
We moved for each other like prey. Our mouths and bodies collided in a turbulent storm of desperation, where our battle would leave everything around us in shambles. Sensing it was the last thing I wanted, he wasn’t gentle, his mouth claiming mine with ferocity, dragging me kicking and screaming from the abyss. Tearing the numbness from my body, pouring frantic emotion into my veins.
The need to taste him, feel him inside and out, dominate and rule with a primal instinct.
Growling, Warwick seized my ass, easily lifting me up, my legs wrapping around his waist as he slammed me back into the tile, the water cascading down over us.
Anger. Grief. Devastation. I was broken into pieces, losing myself to the pain.
He drove need through my soul, flaying me open and exposing me. The unemotional shield I found myself in was stripped by his hungry lips, his ruthless hands. He ripped my top and sports bra over my head, the fabric slapping to the ground. His starving gaze tracked over my breasts, the bruises, cuts, and scars which marked my skin like tattoos.
His tongue flicked over my nipple before his mouth covered my breast, sucking and nipping. My spine arched, my core throbbing, as I felt the light brushes of his presence gliding over my skin.
His mouth claimed mine again, creating more urgency.
It wasn’t a want—it was a necessity.
The ground under my feet was sliding away, and he was my one tether to life. The only way out of the void. My survival. My escape.
Tearing his shirt from him, I groaned as my hands moved down his ripped torso, shoving his pants down, my hand wrapping around his girth while inside my mind, my tongue licked up his shaft. It was faint, but I could feel the throb of his cock, tracing the vein, tasting the pre-cum on my tongue.
“Fuck.” His cock twitched and hardened to my imaginary touch. Warwick sucked in with a grunt, eyes meeting mine with intensity. He felt it. Knew what it meant.
His nose flared. Something in him snapped. I could feel it—a chain breaking.
The man was gone; it was only the wolf. The legend who would annihilate and pillage.
He dropped me back to the ground, kicking off his boots, and yanking down his pants. His thick cock and unbelievable physique had me touching myself, my shadow sucking his dick as I watched him undress.