Page 62 of Wicked Ends
“Run.” He steps closer.
I stare at him, trying to read his intentions. “This seems like a weird training exercise.”
“Scared?” The taunt hangs between us, a clear challenge.
“Of you? Please.” I back away, already planning escape routes in my head. “How long do I get?”
“Two minutes.” His eyes are bright with anticipation. “Starting now.”
I don’t wait for him to change his mind, and I turn and sprint into the woods as fast as I can. The forest is dark, with the moon’s light filtering through bare branches in dappled patterns that make the shadows look deeper than they are. I zigzag between the trees, occasionally glancing back to make sure Ash isn’t following yet.
When I’m deep enough in the woods, I stop, catching my breath. I need to hide, but how? I’ve never tried to conceal myselfmagically before. I close my eyes, focusing on the energy inside me, trying to visualize it forming a cloak around me, something that will mask my presence.
The magic responds, wrapping around me like a second skin. I feel it shimmer across my body, not quite invisibility but something close to it, a way of bending attention away from me. I duck behind a large oak just as I hear Ash enter the woods, his footsteps deliberately loud.
“Ready or not, little witch,” he calls, voice carrying through the trees.
My heart beats faster. This isn’t just training anymore. It’s a game, a hunt, with rules I’m not entirely sure of. But there’s a thrill to it that makes warmth and wetness flood between my legs, something primal awakening in my blood as I hide from the predator stalking me through the dark.
I move silently from tree to tree, keeping low, using my magic to muffle my footsteps in the snow. Ash is probably scanning the forest floor for tracks, and I hear his footsteps go quiet as he occasionally stops to listen. I hold my breath when he passes near my hiding spot, his shoulder brushing the tree I’m crouched behind.
For a moment, I think he hasn’t noticed me. Then his hand shoots out, grabbing for me, and I bolt away, abandoning stealth for speed. I hear him laugh behind me, and my heart decides it wants to beat its way out of my chest.
I run faster, ducking under branches, jumping over fallen logs, my lungs burning from the cold air. He’s behind me, gaining ground, and I realize I’m terrified, but I’m also strangely thrilled.
I’ve never felt this with the others. Lucien’s protective instincts make him want to keep me from danger, not push me toward it. Drake’s gentleness means he’d never willingly put me in harm’s way. Soren’s playfulness has an edge, but it’s unserious.
But Ash? Ash treats me like someone who can take whatever he dishes out.
I reach a small clearing and pause, listening. The woods have gone quiet. Too quiet. I turn in a slow circle, reaching out with my senses, trying to locate him.
Nothing.
Then, a twig snaps directly behind me. I whirl, magic gathering at my fingertips, but I’m too slow. Ash tackles me, his body colliding with mine, sending us both tumbling into the snow. We roll once, twice, and then he’s on top of me, pinning my wrists above my head, his knees on either side of my hips.
“Found you,” he says, his voice hoarse with exertion.
I’m breathing hard now, and snow in my face and down my neck, my back pressed into the cold ground. Ash looms over me, his face half in shadow, half illuminated by moonlight. His grip on my wrists is unyielding, but his body is a warm weight on top of mine, and not entirely unwelcome.
“Get off me.”
“Make me.” His eyes glitter. “I once made you a promise. About what would happen if I caught you.” He smiles darkly. “Do you remember what I said?”
In answer, I arch up my hips against him, pressing my body into his.
Thirty
Rose
Ash’s control snaps. He crushes his mouth to mine, the kiss brutal, his mouth punishing mine. His hands release my wrists to fist in my hair, tugging my head back to expose my neck as he licks and sucks his way down to my collarbone.
“Is this what you want, Rose?” he murmurs against my skin. “To be taken in the woods, like an animal?”
“Fuck you,” I say, but then I’m parting my lips, accepting his tongue into my mouth, kissing him back.
His hands are everywhere, pushing up my sweater, cupping my breasts through my bra. I push into his touch, gasping when his thumb brushes across my nipple. The mark on my arm burns, our connection amplifying every sensation until I’m dizzy with it.
“Can you feel me through the mark?” I ask, curious and a little vengeful after how he reacted to feeling me with the others.
