Page 86 of The Midnight Order
“How many have you told?” I’m trying to judge how many came before me. Sure, it’s setting me up for failure, but I’m so curious that I can’t help it.
“Only two made it as far as me.”
“And what happened to them?”
“They’re dead.”
An ominous shock strikes through me at his words as I swallow.
“I don’t want to kill you,” he whispers, pressing his nose against my cheek as he breathes me in.
Fear should overtake me. He’s a monster, and I know that. Still, I turn my face into his, peering into his cursed eyes, seeing the sadness floating in them before I lean into him.
“So don’t. Don’t kill me. Give me the chance you didn’t give them.”
My words register with him, and his brows furrow.
His dark hair falls over his mask, and I reach up and curl it back over the edge of it, wishing I could rip it off and see him.
“You’ll only disappoint. Like they did.”
Anger swirls in my chest, and I beat it back. I can’t go toe-to-toe with this man, even if I want to.
“I won’t,” I say, stamping down the need to scream at him.
“Prove it.”
Shocking even myself, I lean forward tentatively, brushing my lips against his.
His insanity is a tangible force, and it’s hovering between us like a cloud of poisonous smoke, wafting up my nose and cultivating an answering mania inside me.
“Silver,” he warns, using my name, which he’s only done a handful of times.
“Lowell.” My whispered words die as I press on, connecting our lips in a frenzy.
His guttural snarl slides down my throat, prodding at my resolve. My blood boils, pulling to the surface and begging him to partake so we can begin this process—the one where he realizes he’s mine and I’m his.
Because even if I’d like to deny it, I know I’m right where I was always meant to be.
His tongue presses against mine, and I lift on tiptoe to deepen the kiss, sliding my hands into his dark hair.
He turns us, sitting on the bench, and pulls me between his massive, open thighs.
He’s in jeans and no shirt, and I’ve only just now realized. His scars are on full display.
My hands run over them, exploring as our kiss turns dark. Lowell bites my lip, his fang nearly breaking the skin before he sucks it into his mouth.
My moan shocks even me, and I fist my hands into his hair as his face falls into the crook of my neck, biting softly before grazing his fangs over my flesh.
“Right there,” I whisper, pleading for more, even though I know more with Lowell will be so much different from with the others.
His hands grip my hips, squeezing as if he’s fighting with himself on doing more than he is: teasing himself and me to the edge of sanity.
“You’re so much like her. Fuck, it’s intoxicating.”
I assume he means Valentina, so I don’t ask.
“Soliel was the only time I felt accepted.”
