Kian inhales, long and deep. His nostrils flare, and his pupils dilate. If he wasn’t so close to me, I might not have even seen it.
But I know he smells the arousal on me.
“Fuck off,” I snap, shoving at his face with one hand.
Kian growls and grabs my wrist, hauling me off the floor as he surges to his feet. The movement brings us closer together, with his face only inches from mine as he stares down at me. I scramble to get my feet beneath me as a mix of fury and desire course through my body.
“Don’t push me, Amora. Next time you do, you’ll lose the hand,” Kian warns, his voice low and husky. There’s an undercurrent of something I don’t understand in his voice. Something raw.
“Let go of me.” I attempt to sound angry, like I’ll bite his face off if he doesn’t release me, but instead, my voice comes out breathless.
What the fuck is wrong with me? These men are nothing but monster
s. I’m here to destroy them and save the world. And I just spent the whole fucking night drinking and partying it up with them, then watched Malix jerk himself off in the desert woods, only to come in here and be so dominated by Kian that I’m ready to climb him like a goddamn tree.
I can’t find my footing with them. Any of them.
Kian releases me abruptly. I fall backward but manage to catch my balance before I land on my ass, then immediately straighten my spine so that he’s no longer looming over me.
Not as much, anyway.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” I snarl at him, planting my hands on my hips.
The anger on his face has been replaced by his usual brooding. He tosses back a swig of liquor. “And you smell like Malix.”
“I haven’t touched Malix,” I snap, irritated. But I was near him. I was only a couple yards away from him when he came, and that scent would leave a trace on the air. A trace that could be on me.
I don’t know how much Kian has guessed about what I saw or what I was doing out there in the dark. But he knows his brother’s scent well enough to know Malix was there too. When Ridge’s mate ended up forming a mate bond with three other men, it took all four of them time to come to terms with it and to get past the initial jealousy of sharing.
Is that what this is?
A slow, almost cruel grin turns up the corners of my lips. “Are you jealous?”
Kian throws out an arm, hurling the half-full bottle of whiskey against the living room wall. The thick glass explodes violently on impact, and shards rocket back out into the living room, slicing my arms. And his. The sharp, smoky scent of whiskey fills the room, and the silence is absolute.
And I’m… turned on.
I’m bleeding from half a dozen small scratches on my left arm, and I’m an inferno of lust. Kian’s chest rises and falls with his breaths, and his presence fills the room, overtaking my senses. His anger is a drug, and stoking that fury gets me fucking high.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my tone cool and even. “That’s what I thought.”
He doesn’t respond. He just stares down at me with those eyes that burn like fire, like he’s daring me to say something else. To do something else.
But I don’t.
I leave the living room on shaky knees, doing my best to hide it. Not that I can hide the way Malix made me feel. Or the way Kian makes me feel. My body is a puddle of need as I stalk upstairs and slip back into the dusty bedroom I chose earlier.
Can Kian really be jealous?
The question rolls around and around in my head as I remove my boots and sink down to sit on the edge of the mattress. Dust wafts up around me, and I sigh, standing again to remove the blankets. I lie down atop the mattress cover, which is slightly less dusty. I check on the status of the cuts on my arm—shallow, superficial. Not even bleeding anymore.
It doesn’t really matter whether any of the men are jealous of each other. Not really. They’re not interested in being my mates, and despite the way my body aches for them, I don’t want them as my mates, either.
But… the pull is intoxicating. More intoxicating than all the whiskey in the world.
Malix claimed he couldn’t sleep, and now I’m fucking positive I won’t be able to either. My body is buzzing, as if there’s an electric current beneath my skin or a thousand bees trapped inside my veins. The small cuts from the broken bottle are healing, but they still sting slightly, and adrenaline churns in my system, mixing with the remnants of the alcohol I drank earlier.
It all combines into a potent cocktail, and rising above it all is a deep, almost painful arousal. My clit pulses, and my pussy feels swollen and empty. I shift my position on the mattress, trying to get comfortable, but it doesn’t relieve any of the ache inside me.