Page 62 of Claimed
If I had fucked her, would I still want her? Is it a matter of wanting what I haven’t had? A curiosity?
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. The motion pulls at the new tattoo on my throat, but there is no pain. No burn. One of the joys of being part demon, I heal faster, so much faster than a human.
What would take weeks for anyone else has taken a few hours only.
Did I need another tattoo?
No. But there is a peace to being in the chair. The near silent thrum of the tattoo gun, the slight burn of the needles piercing your skin.
Though, I may have startled the artist by asking for the most painful place.
Sighing, I refocus on the crowd.
Our quarry is in the same place, his ebony head tilted as he listens to the blond host from the auction. Her eyes sparkle, and I can smell her lust even over the distance and open air.
I shake my head.
“Almost sad, isn’t it?”
My head whips over.
Onyx stands beside me, a crystal flute in her hand. Her amber eyes are darkened with human cosmetics, the effect like smoke. She did something with her thick hair, leaving the dense mass into loose ringlets that frame her face and trail over her bare shoulders.
She is once more in a midnight dress, this one only coming to mid-thigh and made of a thin stretchy material. The side panels are gossamer amber, flashing her tan skin. There is no bra line. No thong. Skeletons spiral down her deadly looking heels and the effect leaves my heart tripping.
Her eyes cant to me. “What?”
“I can’t decide if you want to be fucked or if you want to kill someone,” I say.
She smiles, and the motion pulls at the blood red color staining her lips. “Maybe both.”
My exhale is hard.
Definitely know how she feels.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Making an appearance,” she says. “I was informed it would help keep down suspicions.”
I almost ask if Ruin was the one that suggested it before I catch myself.
Shifting, I nod.
We fall silent and just watch the crowd.
Twice I open my mouth. But there are no words. No way to ask what is still beating inside me.
The music shifts to something less classy and more modern. Onyx dances a bit at my side, her lithe body rolling with the beat.
Half the men nearby turn to watch.
“Were you also told to draw an audience?” I say and my voice is hard.
She rolls her eyes. “I can’t make an appearance if I’m not seen, Caine.” A vamp several feet away beams as she looks at him. His body is swathed in Armani and his blonde hair is styled. She shoves her flute into my chest. “Hold this please.”
I grip the glass as she saunters over the concrete to him.
He grabs her about the waist and spins her in a slow circle. Her laughter is bright and pleased. The glass cracks in my hand and the shards fall at my feet. A sharp pain pierces my palm. I barely feel it.
