Edge of Seventeen (10 page)

Peaches leaned into his ear and whispered,
“Tell me about her.”

“She’s a woman I used to know.” The timbre
of his voice rumbled through his chest.

“Why do you carry around a picture of her?”
Peaches purred.

Cyrus hesitated as he delved into the cavern
of his memory to a place deep inside where the Incarnate lived. He
gritted his teeth as he pictured her, at fourteen, covered in
bruises and dried blood as he carried her from Bernadette’s torture
chamber. For years, he could believe that what his pack had done
had been just, but that faith was misplaced. The Incarnate was a
monster, but delivering a child into weeks of torture was a fucking
atrocity.

A confluence of self-hatred and hate for the
Incarnate brewed in him.

“I ran into her a while ago while I was on a
job,” Cyrus answered. “At first, I didn’t recognize her. She had to
have been in her early twenties, and I hadn’t seen her since she
was a kid.”

He gasped as Peaches found her rhythm,
keeping pace with the feelings evoked by the vision of Sunday.

“She was older. But it was the same face.
And she was… fucking
beautiful
.” His breath caught in his
throat again, and he growled. Opening his eyes and looking into
Peaches’, his erection softened, and she forced his head back.

“Keep telling me, babe,” she said. “I like
what it’s doing to you.”

When Peaches combed through his hair, Cyrus
imagined Sunday’s caress. His cock jerked in response.

“I’m gonna need you real stiff to ride your
big cock again.”

If it took another woman to get Cyrus hard,
then Peaches would let it happen.

“I was in Austin at a festival.” He was
verbalizing in fragments. “I was talking to someone else. I don’t
know how I saw her. She wasn’t standing out. I just knew. I
felt
her.”

As a familiar hurricane brewed in his belly,
Cyrus’ attention drifted from the werewolf he was talking to, to
the tall brunette. Of everything that he could have noticed, that
woman yards away drew him like a magnet. Instantly, his skin
pricked and his senses tuned only to her. As he watched her,
whatever the werewolf was telling Cyrus turned into white noise.
The woman’s hand reached toward her face, and she brushed a long,
errant tress behind her ear, revealing her face. The recognition of
whom she was almost knocked him over. The gut-wrenching desire to
tear her apart rose with a conflicting desperation for her
touch.

“I didn’t even know it was her. I couldn’t
have known. She was lost for so long. The last I heard, she had
taken off, and no one had seen her for years. But there she
was.”

Peaches leaned closer into Cyrus’ ear. She
kissed his lobe and dug her tongue into his ear.

“You wanted her.”

“Yes.”

“Did you get her?”

“No.”

“You got
me
,” she purred, sucking his
lobe again.

Cyrus’ eyes shot open. He grabbed Peaches by
her bony hips and pulled her onto his lap, buckling her knees at
his sides. He brought his mouth to her breasts and tore at her hard
nubs with his teeth. Peaches brought her hands to his head and
yanked it back to smash her mouth onto his. While Cyrus feasted on
Peaches’ mouth with carnal abandon, she lifted her hips and teased
the tip of his cock with her moist entrance.

“I’m gonna fuck that girl right out of you,”
she said, her words demanding, her stare burning into him.

His eyes were the color of flames, anger
burning away the image of Sunday looking over her shoulder,
scanning the crowd at the festival, looking just ahead of him at
the stand that was blocking her line of sight. She’d smiled then,
pleased with whatever she had seen or whatever she hadn’t seen.
Smiled.

Aware of who she was, Cyrus revved himself
up with hate. The once-dormant tumult of passion and ire erupted in
him once more. She should have known better. Given her abnormal
sensitivity to the world around her, the Incarnate should have been
able to catch a whiff of what was welling inside of him. She should
have run for her life. But she didn’t. As she had through all the
years they’d spent together, she didn’t even know he was there.

Before he could linger on that encounter any
longer, Peaches lowered herself onto his erection. Cyrus’ muscles
tensed and rippled down his body. She pulled his face to hers and
left an inch of space between them.

“I’m gonna fuck her right out of you,” she
swore.

There was no question as to what was
happening. These were two people entering into some violent, carnal
fucking. There would be no love, no softness, and no care. These
were needs that had to be met. Hunger that ravaged. A man who could
kill the woman that inspired such conflict within him, and a woman
who ached to be wanted, wanted to be desired.

“Please,” he responded. No pleading in his
tone. It was a command, a challenge. “Do it,” he said. “Get rid of
her.”

To read more of
Taking Back Sunday
(Incarnate Book One),
please visit your e-book online
retailers.

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Indie writer. Reader. Knitter. Giraffe.
Short hair enthusiast. Fairy godmother. Coffee addict. Pet parent.
TV show marathoner.

Cristy Rey lives in Miami, FL. She is a
reader and writer all of the time, and a knitter much less of the
time than she was six months before she took up writing again. She
lives with her other half, Adrian, and her dog, Henry Holmes, and
her cat, Lenore. If you met Cristy, you’d probably inform her that
she’s tall since people seem to think that, before anything else,
they should make sure she’s aware of that fact. She and her friends
get together to drink tea, eat scones, and talk about
Sherlock
. They sometimes pretend they’re a book club but
that’s just their excuse to get together. Cristy has already
written the follow-up to this book of the
Incarnate Series,
and she wants to know what happens in the end just as badly as you
do.

YOU CAN FIND CRISTY ONLINE AT:

Website:
http://www.cristyrey.com

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http://www.facebook.com/cristywrites

Email:
[email protected]

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