Page 66 of Snag
I open my eyes.
Rought’s eyes narrow, crinkling at the edges at my reactions. Smugly. Then he bares his teeth.
It isn’t a smile.
This is the beast — the gryphon — who’s awoken to drag me back to bed.
The gryphon who lassoed me with the bond.
All the unusual smugness, all that vehement possession, radiating through the connection— that’s not Rought’s either. At least not at this level of intensity.
I contemplate running, getting some space between us. An irrational response to any beast. But this connection, this revelation, is almost too much because … because …
“The soul bond,” I whisper, needing to vocalize the realization, however quietly.
Energy shifted between Rought and me — new threads forged and anchored — when we made love, strengthening with every orgasm. Perhaps because of the trust and vulnerability inherent in the act of allowing someone to bring you to that pinnacle of pleasure.
But this bond, the bond the gryphon is holding, is otherworldly. This is our missing soul bond.
Or, more accurately, and assuming I’m actually managing to wrap my head around all of this …
It’s another soul bond.
Iknow. Just touching it, Iknow. This connectioncouldn’t have been easily taken from us. Not even through death. It’s constructed out of the very energy that created the universe, that created our souls. The energy that creates our life force, our fate.
The gryphon controlling Rought’s body abruptly lunges across the bed, grabbing me by the back of my neck and looming over me on his knees.
I relax into that hold, gazing up at him. I’m not prey. I cannot be dominated. But I relax so completely that he has to hold me aloft. I press my hand against his chest, laying my palm over the heart tattoo — over the anchor point of our soul bond. I hold his blazing golden gaze, not a hint of Rought’s blue-green visible in those glowing orbs.
The gryphon, and therefore Rought himself, is a demigod. Not just a mythical beast. He wields too much power to be anything else. The beasts of his brothers and their ties to me— a goddess of sorts— are further evidence of that.
The gryphon stares back at me, fierce and determined.
Something cracks open deep in my chest — as if I’ve held all my need and desire and love walled off around my heart. It floods through my system with a weird, amped-up joy. I sob against the onslaught of my own emotions, my own acceptance. Just once.
“You held the bond?” I ask in a teary whisper.
“Mine,” the gryphon rasps through not entirely human vocal cords. He raises his other hand, running the smooth back of a sickle claw up my neck, angling my head to give him all the access he wants. He tracks his nose across my skin, inhaling deeply.
My nipples tighten, almost painfully.
His … his … “Yours …” I murmur. “Separate from Rought?”
He huffs, clearly not interested in exchanging words. “Yes. Mate.”
Two soul bonds? One to the man and one to the beast? And the one between Rought and me was severed —
He hooks those claw-tipped fingers between my breasts, curling the sharp points carefully away from me. Then he shreds the front of my nightgown.
“Oh … that’s not —”
I’m shocked, apparently speechless, as he hooks my necklace in one finger, then tugs it around my neck so it hangs down my back instead. He shouldn’t be able to touch it.
Still looming over me on his knees, he shifts his hold on the back of my neck, tugging my upper body into a deep arch to bring my breasts closer to his mouth. He licks around my left breast, then runs the flat of his hot, oddly rough tongue across my nipple.
A sharp spike of desire, verging on painful, rips through me. I moan, deep and needy. A noise I’ve never made in my life.
The gryphon switches breasts and repeats.
