Page 19 of Hell Kissed
Her brow scrunches, and this shit is not going the way I imagined. I thought we’d have to drag this girl to Hell. She’s lounging in Latham’s arms right now like he’s a fucking man-hammock.
“Is that a pack? Where is it located?”
My lips twitch with a smile.
“In Hell,” I answer all too gruffly.
Latham shoots me a look, but I won’t sugar coat it. What’s the point? And yeah… maybe I want her to put up a little fight. See if she’s as powerful as Hela makes her out to be.
She blinks slowly at that, and I see her chewing it around in her pretty little head.
Still isn’t running or screaming though…
Hmm.
“You know, the place of eternal suffering and such,” I add, and I swear Latham’s death glare just shot beams my way.
Why’s she so calm? Where is the screaming and running?
I listen intently, and her pulse is soaring faster than when she was in her wolf form.
So she is afraid.
She’s just very, very good at hiding it.
It’s then that she slips out of Latham’s arms and I note the way he drags her down his body before letting her feet touch the leafy ground. I arch a brow at him, but he just shakes his head at my suggestive smirk. He hovers near her, obviously prepared to catch her should she fall, faint, or just keel the fuck over.
Must be fucking exhausting being that nice.
Latham sparks a flame in his hand. It sizzles hotly against the chill in the air before black clothing and a pair of boots appear there.
He hands them to her, and she takes a step back, turning away as she changes quickly right in front of us. My gaze slides down the nice arch of her back toward the curve of her ass, and I have to look away as a rumble of sound I can’t control crawls up my throat.
I shove my hands deep in my pockets as I wait, but I’m clearly not cut out for this gentleman shit. Latham always makes it seem so easy. It’s fucking not. Because I look again. White frost kisses her pale hair in the shine of the moonlight as the snow continues to fall lightly around us. She’s beautiful in that pure, don’t-fuck-up-the-innocent kind of way.
Tonight played out like a fucking fairy tale. We saved the girl. Funny how story books make dragons and monsters like us out to be the ones you rescue the girl from, not the other way around.
She pulls her last boot on and turns to assess us more carefully.
“What do you guys want with me?” she finally asks. I realize how much farther she’s stepped away from us while she changed. Two yards now lie safely between her and us.
We’re just on the outskirts of her pack’s territory, between their land and the Ice Mountains. She could make it back to those tormenting assholes in about five minutes if she shifted.
“You don’t belong here,” Torben says in a deep, rumbling tone. She peers up at the half giant. He’s intimidating. Nearly seven feet tall of solid, impatient strength.
Only person that has the balls to test the demigod is Latham. Which is odd to me since I’ve never seen the shapeshifter throw a punch in his entire life.
“I know that. Thanks.” Her bright blue eyes narrow on Torben, and I’m not going to say it, but maybe we should leave the small talk to Latham. He’s good at that shit, making women feel all warm and fuzzy and shit.
Let him do the hard part.
“You don’t fit in with your pack because you belong in Hell,” Latham explains, his honey accent is all calm waves of relaxation and circle jerks.
Yeah. Girls like that shit.
She closes her eyes and a long, tired sigh slips from her lips.
Hmm. She’s not loving it the way women usually do when Latham talks.
