“As far as I’m concerned, you’re on vacation here, Olivia,” she said. “We all are. The mission will be completed.” When I still hesitated, she rolled her eyes again. “Plus, there is this,” she said and swung open the door at an unnatural speed.
Hawke stumbled backward. It took a few steps for the hulking vampire to find his balance as if he’d been leaning against the other side of the door. Avianna arched a brow, motioning a gloved hand to the now fully balanced and totally grumbly Hawke.
“See,” she said. “Perfectly protected, even if I didn’t ask for it.”
I took one look between the glare Hawke fastened Avianna with and the one she shot back at him and decided it would be better if I bolted.
Hurrying down the hallway, I schooled my instincts to relax. Hawke was a deadly assassin, and if a threat resided in my familial home—which I didn’t think it did—then he’d protect Avianna with his life. He may not be her royal guard, but he was of the Order and duty-bound to Alek, her brother, the king.
Avianna was safe, she was fine, and not only that, she wanted me to enjoy myself while I could. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.
I didn’t hesitate as I swung open the door to our room, having followed Ransom’s scent all the way there.
He and Benedict immediately fell silent from where they sat, both positioned in a different chair in the sitting area. Benedict rose as I entered the room, either reading something in my gaze or my poorly masked scent.
“I’ll just leave you two—”
“It’s fine, Benedict,” I said, knowing if there were important matters to attend to, then my needs could wait. “I can wait—”
“Please don’t say that!” Benedict threw his hands up, hurrying toward the door.
“But, really, I can wai—”
“Have mercy on my skin, Olivia!” he yelled behind him before slamming the door on his way out.
Ransom laughed, leaning back in his chair, shifting his legs a bit wider with the motion. “That was almost funny,” he said, his voice not that of a warrior planning battle strategy but a warrior ready to claim me in every way possible. “You almost branded poor Benedict with a lie,” he continued as I stalked toward him. He tracked every move until I stood between those massive thighs. “Because it’s clear you absolutely can’t wait.”
Cocky, delightful bastard.
I curled my fingers against the arms of his chair, caging him in for once. His arrogant grin didn’t falter, those molten blue eyes churning as they stayed locked on mine. I leaned closer, a breath away from his lips. “You promised later,” I whispered, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. I flicked my tongue over his lips, teasing the tip of one slightly distended fang. “It’s later.” I didn’t dare move my hands from the arms of the chair, instead content to hold his heated stare in that delicious, tight anticipation.
He studied me, his eyes lingering on the curves of my face, the line of my neck, my collarbone, and lower. He took his time, seemingly content to torture me as much as I was him. My muscles trembled from the willpower it took not to move, not to be the first one to admit their starvation for the other.
But I was starved for him. Desperate. And now that our friends had come to aid in the mission? It only reminded me of how little time we had left in this bubble of fantasy that we’d created for ourselves. And I didn’t want to waste a second of it.
Ransom shifted in that chair again, rising slowly, his hands on my waist, gently hefting me up to his eye level. My arms instantly wound around his neck as he backed us up to the bed, and he gave me a little shove until my spine kissed the mattress. He used one arm to tug his T-shirt off, his leather pants quickly following. I ached at the sight of him, his glorious body, the delicious skin tight over tons of corded muscle, the mark on the left side of his chest, the one that mirrored the fake on my wrist.
Beautiful, deadly.
My friend.
My mentor.
My everything.
He stalked onto the bed, prowling toward me like a great predator zeroed in on his prey. I scooted back as he advanced, drawing out the tension, smirking as he growled. He gently grabbed my ankles, hauling me back to him as he hooked his fingers in the sleeves of the gauzy dress I wore.
“I hope this isn’t your favorite,” he said, his fangs fully distended now.
“Why does that mat—” A gasp stole my words as he bent over me, lightly grazing those fangs over the skin of my bare shoulders, along the straps. A sharp tear ripped the air between us, quickly followed by another, the sleeves of my dress shredded by his fangs.