Page 11 of Wings and Shadowthief

The short healing spell she'd cast onto him was enough to close up the rest of his wounds in mere seconds. She'd never seen her magic work so fast or efficiently. It adhered to his flesh, making his skin glow with health and brightness.

Gwen blinked, surprised. "I've never seen anyone heal this fast. They should stick you in a lab and study you."

His laugh held an edge. "They can try."

Since the Age of Blood, when the supernatural creatures announced their existence to the world, some humans had attempted to capture and study some of them in the name of science. The healing rate of most sups was something mortals understandably drooled over. Vampires and shifters also rarely got sick. Witches were another matter. They had means to speed up healing via spells and potions, but at the end of the day, they were mostly human. They lived and died as fast as any mortal, unless they used potent, dangerous magic to change their fate.

Ultimately, research labs were banned in most countries, because it soon became clear that what most scientists were interested in wasn't their healing rate or their longevity, but rather, their strength and magic. Humans had wanted to weaponize the sups' natural attributes.

Such research was still happening, but they'd gone underground. They hunted loners, witches without covens, weaker sups. There was zero chance that they'd ever get their hands on Jack Hunter.

"You wouldn't volunteer for a few weeks of research, if it was safe and you trusted the lab?" Gwen didn't like the thought of humans capturing vulnerable individuals of course, but she'd always been intrigued by the idea of using their blessing to help others. What if the genetic makeup of sups was the key to curing AIDs, cancer, Alzheimer's?

The corners of Jack's mouth curved. "I'd let you play doctor with me any day, Ms. Kanye."

She was thrown off. Flirting. Jack Hunter was flirting with her. What the hell was happening? Maybe she'd collapsed and she was dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time he invaded her fantasies.

"I don't get you," she admitted.

"I'm a simple creature, Gwen. Straightforward wants and needs. I don't play games, or waste time not going after what I want. I want you. I think you want me. Now, what are we going to do about it?"

The Descent into Hell is Easy

The funny thing about jumping was that it could feel a lot like falling. One small leap, a few words he couldn’t—wouldn’t—take back, and here he was. Trailing his fingers over the smooth, dark skin of Gwen’s arm.

Falling.

She tasted like fire, responding to his kiss like she needed this just as much as him.

It didn’t take a genius to know today wasn’t a good idea. He wasn’t in charge of this body most of the time, and the idiot ruling their lives wouldn’t remember this. But damn if he could stop himself.

Hunter kicked the heavy wooden door open and walked backward into the dorm.

He leaned into her, her soft curves pressing against his chest, her scent driving him mad, and allowed himself to deepen the kiss for one moment.

There. He’d had a taste. One delicious, life-altering, spellbinding taste. It had to be enough for now. Painstakingly, he took a step back, right fingers cupping her chin. He ran his thumb along her luscious purple lips, reluctant to let go. “That mouth of yours tries what’s left of my sanity, doll.”

“Enough talking.” She closed the distance between them, threw her arms around his waist, and drew him against her.

Gwen got on her tiptoes to reach his mouth.

Shit. He hadn’t expected the assertiveness. Gwen had always been comfortable in the background, lost in her own thoughts, only participating in the discussion when someone asked her to. She didn’t seem shy, exactly, but she wasn’t one to monopolize the attention, like Chloe Eirikrson or Catherine Stormhale. He’d seen her as softer, submissive. Her taking charge, claiming what she wanted, was a fucking turn-on. He couldn’t resist.

Hunter groaned into the kiss, just as her warm palms slid under his pants, nails digging into his skin. She was clawing at him. The insane witch was fuckingbrandinghim.

“Careful.” The warning was a growl, filled with too much heat. She didn’t know what she was playing with.

“Fuck being careful. My room’s this way.”

A stronger man might have resisted. Told her they could take it slow. Fucking confessed to the fact that his mind was a fractured mess. But she inclined her head, her tongue licking along his jawline, exposing her throat.

A stronger man would have been an idiot. They could talk later.

He lifted her up, and, unprompted, she wrapped her long legs around him, her heat aligned with his hardness over their various layers of clothing.

Too many layers.

He strolled in the direction she’d indicated, then followed her scent through the empty common room, up a flight of stairs.

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