Page 7 of The Golden Hour

A shuddering breath leaves his lips, currently grazing my forehead. “You’re soaking. So small and tight. I’m afraid I’ll break you in half. Afraid of how much I want to.”

Why does that sound so good? I clench around him, my hips jerking, seeking relief for an arousal that’s become excruciating. His fingers pump slowly, and his thumb begins to rub slow circles on my clit. My eyelids closing, I see stars falling in the blackness.

“Let go,” he demands. “Take it.”

Then I’m climaxing, searing pleasure exploding from my center, stealing my breath and igniting tiny storms down my limbs. I fall apart, messy and open—too open—and I forget everything except the desire to be myself.

“Finn,” I gasp, “my name—”

Slow, drugging kisses trail down my neck as he guides me onto the bed. His shoes hit the floor, then pants, and finally, he settles between my open legs. Nothing between us but heat and the intimacy I feel—that I hope he feels, too.

Tattooed biceps tickle my vision as he grins down at me. Unfairly gorgeous, a god of art and fire. “I know your name, Grace.”

I shake my head. “It’s Calli.”

He blinks, confusion clouding his eyes before they sharpen oddly, scanning my features like he’s never seen me before. “Did you say Calli?”

I nod, biting my lip.

For a pregnant moment, his smile holds. When it fades, it’s like watching the sun sink into endless night. His body stiffens above mine, fingers clenching into fists by my shoulders. Unease awakens inside me, slithering its way down my spine.

Finn shakes his head like he’s waking from a dream. “No. Not possible. Please tell me you’re joking.”

I cover my naked chest with my arms, fighting the urge to shove him off me. “Grace is my middle name. I just thought—I wanted you to know—”

“Stop!”

The shout freezes me in place. Not because of the rage in it—of which there’s miles—but because of the panic. Absolute, full-blown panic. Finn rockets to his feet, lurching backward until his back thuds against the wall. He slides to the ground, his eyes ablaze, and stares at me like I’ve sprouted horns.

I’ve made a grave mistake. One that could cost me my life.

Shaking with humiliation and blossoming fear, I scamper off the bed and grab my shirt, yanking it on, then pull on my jeans sans underwear. I have no idea where my panties are and I don’t care. Snatching my glasses, shoes, and jacket, I edge toward the door.

Later, I’ll fall apart about the potentially best night of my life blowing up in my face, and mourn the impending loss of the first place I’ve called home in years. But not now. Not yet. Not until I’m behind a locked door with my gun in hand.

I grab the doorknob, ready to bolt, but something makes me look back. Misplaced nostalgia. A twisted need to see him one more time.

Finn sits against the wall with his head on his knees, his fingers clasped behind his neck. His whole body trembles. I fight an illogical urge to comfort him.

I shake my head. “Don’t follow me, or I’ll kill you.”

He laughs, and it isn’t pretty. Dark and half-deranged. When he looks up, the fury in his eyes makes my blood run cold.

“That’s rich. But I guess that’s how you operate, isn’t it? Everywhere you go, you leave dead bodies.”

Stunned, I sputter, “You don’t know anything about me, asshole.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. You’re Callisto Avellino, and you’re supposed to be dead.”

5

Supposed to be dead.

How right he is.

Letting myself into the shadowy, silent house where I rent a room, I avoid the floorboards that creak as I make my way upstairs. Adrenaline in full swing, my skin crawls as I slip into my bedroom and lock the door, then freeze, listening to make sure I didn’t wake Molly. Other than the usual groans of the old house, I hear nothing.

I don’t turn on the light as I kneel next to my small bed and reach beneath for the comforting metal of the lock box. Huddled in the corner of the room, hidden from the door, I unlock the box with the small key I keep taped under the nightstand. Relief sags my shoulders as I lift the gun from its padded casing.

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