Page 45 of Burn Like An Angel

“The amount of times I’ve told myself the same thing.” I laugh at the insanity of it all. “I guess nobody survives with their morals intact. Desperate people do desperate things.”

Lips parted, Xander cocks his head. “Do desperate people forgive others’ shitty choices?”

Even with a fresh wound, I’m twisted enough to actually consider it. Old Ripley would’ve left him, naked and humiliated. Lord, I’m fucking tempted. It would be no less than he deserves.

That was before I experienced for myself the true cost of survival. The evil that breeds when you’re existing in a world forever weighted against you. We can all be a little monstrous when we’re desperate.

“They try to.” I touch the slick mess at my throat. “Even when it isn’t easy or quick… they can try to make progress.”

Stepping closer, I admit defeat and curl my arms around him. Xander shudders against me, his skin chilled and goose pimpled. He hides his face in my hair then grips my hips.

“For what it’s worth,” he says into my curls. “I’m sorry for the pain we caused you. For all that you suffered through because of our choices.”

“I know, Xan.”

“I mean it. We put you through hell.”

“Well, yes.” Pain prickles my throat at the admission. “But I suppose I did the same to you. You were tortured because of me.”

Xander chuckles against my head. “It was no less than we deserved.”

“As true as that may be, I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Xan. I want us to be more than that.”

A long pause is filled with the sound of his rapid breathing.

“I thought I knew what I wanted. What… I needed. Now I’m not so sure.”

I tilt my head up to look at him. “What do you want right now?”

“Right now?” His tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You.”

CHAPTER 7

RIPLEY

FIXED BLADE – TRADE WIND

Xander’s lips capture mine.The anger that drove our kiss yesterday is absent. Instead, I’m overwhelmed by the urgent intensity his mouth embodies. He isn’t punishing me; he’s pleading with me. Begging for understanding.

Searching for a way to comprehend what he feels, Xander tattoos a frantic prayer against my lips. The voice that once screamed at me to never let this creature into my head has been beaten into submission.

He pulls my leg up so it hooks on his hip. I’m flush against him, the cold from his naked skin seeping through my t-shirt. His mouth massages mine before he sucks my bottom lip between his teeth to bite down.

I gasp as slick copper seeps between us. The piping hot flow seems to ignite something within Xander. When he squeezes my jaw tight enough to crack bone, the spark of danger makes my soaked core clench.

Stopping for a breath, Xander pushes his thumb through the blood dripping from my lip. He inspects the stained pad before taking his thumb into his mouth to suck it off.

“I want to earn it,” he says emphatically.

“Earn what?”

His hand lowers, moving to clasp my injured throat. My mind can’t keep up with the rapid fluctuations, a desperate man pleading for forgiveness as he squeezes the wound he inflicted.

This is how he surrenders. Xander could never tear down his defences without maintaining some control. The pressure at my windpipe demonstrates his internal struggle, fighting to shed his old self.

“You,” he repeats. “Your trust.”

Releasing my throat, he allows me to suck in a breath. Forcing me to trust him. To believe that even when he holds my life in his hands, he’ll give it back to me in the end.

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