Page 13 of The Demon's Due
She ran into Freya between classes, but she seemed distracted, eyes darting elsewhere. She knew her vaguely, Cam acting as the common friend. Freya had that dreamy,distracted look of a night gone well. Síofra had wanted to spill everything to someone-the board, the blood, the whispers, the way Morgan had looked-but who could she trust? The words had shriveled on her tongue when she even thought of mentioning it to Cam.
By midday she was sure she was coming down with something. Heat shimmered under her skin until her tank top clung damply to her back. Twice she caught one of the shifters in her class sniffing the air in her direction, quickly averting their gaze when she noticed. Embarrassment burned her cheeks hotter than the fever already flushing her skin. Her stomach cramped.When she glimpsed her reflection in a bathroommirror when she had taken a quick detour to wash her face,, her skin was too bright, too flushed.
After the third hour she was rushing for her linguistics lecture when a foot shot out of nowhere, and before she could catch herself, her books went flying as she sprawled hard on the stone floor.
Laughter chimed above her.
Síofra blinked up through her tangled hair to see Debbie, Alia, and Bambi standing over her like a trio of cats admiring something mangled they’d dragged in.
Alia’s lips curled. “Pigs ought to stay in their pens,” she said sweetly, voice carrying in the packed hall.
Bambi made an oinking noise. Debbie’s expression twisted in a cruel smile as she squatted down and pulled her head back by a rough hand threaded through her hair.
She leaned in and whispered,“You should have stayed away from him. You should have stayed in your lane, you fat cow…it was so easy…when he came to me that night, all I needed to do was look through his photos and click publish…”
Síofra’s eyes widened, “He came to you? It was you…”
Debbie grinned,flashing sharp canines, “Of course it was me…Did you think Morgan would settle for the likes of you? You were just a fling…Just trash worth less than toilet paper.”
A furious blush scalded Síofra’s cheeks as she scrambled for her books. The sting of humiliation blurred her eyes, but beneath it came the relief. It wasn't Morgan after all.But what was he doing in Debbie’s room?
Her chaotic thoughts were interrupted by a growl-low and unmistakable.
She looked up to see Morgan was charging down the corridor.
The air seemed to shift around him, students scrambling to get out of the way as though they could sense the violence rolling off his frame. Debbie immediately slid into siren mode, her bodycurving like a snake as she reached for him, trying to wind herself around his arm.
But the moment she caught his expression, she recoiled. His face wasn’t the playful boy she’d chased or the casual hook-up from before-it was murder, dark and certain, carved into his features.
“You dared touch my mate,” he roared as he closed in. The former bullies backed up as his overpowering aura enveloped them.
And then he wasn’t looking at them.
His eyes were locked on Síofra.
“Síofra…” His voice was deeper than before, a low bass note that rolled down her spine. He reached for her with a careful hand like she was made of spun glass.
Her books slipped from her hands again. She followed his gaze to her scraped knees, the raw skin stinging and streaked with blood.
As she straightened, she couldn't help but sway towards him.
What was happening to her?
Hair sprouted across the backs of his hands. His canines curving long, the dim light of the hall reflecting off the white of his teeth. His eyes burned gold for a heartbeat-feral and wild-before flicking back to icy blue.
Debbie backed away, her siren-smile faltering, unease creepinging into her features. Even Alia and Bambi shuffled back a couple of uncertain steps.Everyone knew getting between one of the were-kind and their mate was akin to inviting death by dismemberment.
But Morgan didn’t notice any of them. He only saw Síofra.
Síofra’s vision tunneled right back, locking only on him.
Gods, he looked delicious. No man had the right to look that hot. Towering over her with broad shoulders tapering to a waist cut with muscle, his shirt straining over a chest and abdomenthat could have been sculpted from stone. His face might almost have been pretty, if not for the scar slicing clean through one dark brow, lending him a dangerous edge.
Heat slammed into her, stealing her breath. Her breasts felt swollen, achingly sensitive, her nipples tight against the thin cotton of her tank. Low in her pelvis,her inner flesh pulsed, dampness gathering slick and urgent. She wanted-gods help her-to lick him, taste the salt of his skin, climb him like a tree until they were pressed skin to skin.
“Síofra…” he said again, voice rolling deep, vibrating through her bones. His eyes caught hers, burning. “Come to me.”
He was not unaffected, Through his pants ,she could see the blatant outline of his manhood.
