Page 55 of The Girl in the Forest

“Forget the failures.”

“The lost causes.”

I was drifting, a leaf in the stream.

I rubbed the wolf rune on my wrist, desperate for the wicked little twitch.

Nothing.

“He doesn’t want you… he wants to use you.”

Not real, not real.

“Real.”

The witches’ voices came from every direction until I couldn’t listen anymore. My legs wobbled. I wanted to collapse, the way the images on the wall had collapsed…

I needed to warn Grayson…

Instead, I stopped fighting.

Shivers wrecked me as, one by one, the vampires brushed long fingers against my skin. Soothing, tantalizing with an invitation to join them in their darkness. Let go of the past. Release all the hurt.

Let them want me…

Once—long ago—I’d stood on a deck watching the beacon fires, finding hope in a dream. And then I’d lost what I’d dreamed, although I could not remember how.

Resistance drained away. I became pliant. Tipped my head back. Never fought as masculine fingers unwound my braid, combed the long strands loose and free.

My clothes were uncomfortable, and I held my arms out. Allowed myself to be undressed.

Part of me remembered Grayson, being in his cave, the soft give of the sand, the prick of the bone needle as he inked runes.

My skin tingled—I felt his hands touching me. Stroking, probing, enticing. Burning me with desire.

Arousal pulsed like the tug in my chest.

I thought I heard his voice, whispering—shouting.

Stop, Noa… Fight it…

But another part of me shut the illusion out. Demanding more sensation. More intimacy. Whatever it took to sear my mind, cleanse away the memories. Destroy who I’d been and who I would never be.

What I would never have.

Every inch of my skin was slowly… slowly exposed. Worshiped. Blessed with lips and tongues and fingers.

I shook beneath the easing of buttons, the lowering of a zipper. The loosening of a bra. The way the lacy material slid, catching on nipples overly sensitive and already hard—the pleasure-pain was too brief.

Silken panties were dragged down my legs. Knuckles brushed against zinging nerves. Hands explored and sampled, masters of seduction, drawing music from an imperfect instrument.

I delighted in the male crooning, basked in the words of admiration and praise. My stomach clenched with the rioting lust, the deep, throaty demands that echoed through me.

Muscles quivered, tightened as if I was the butterfly, freed from a dried and useless chrysalis.

“Oh… gods…” The moan was honey-sweet on my lips, and I relished the way sound had a taste. I wanted all the flavors of seduction, to savor them like fine wine.

My body softened. In the wavering light, I could see myself dancing, a seductress with my arms weaving a delighted invitation. My lips parted on a breath of perfect bliss while male hands cradled my hips. Moved my body from side to side. As other hands cupped my breasts.

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