Page 103 of Bedeviled

“Relax,” Kane calls out to him, “I’m not going to mess with your mate. Now will you go tend to her? She’s having a hell of a time.”

I squirm while he’s talking. “Let me go,” I bite out.

“Stop wiggling,” he says, and I feel the dominant push of his power upon me. It makes me want to do something completely out of line like say “yes, daddy,” or you know, actually follow his orders.

But damnit, I am a strong, independent woman.

…who also stops squirming.

“Can you for once in your life not manhandle me?” I demand.

“If you actually followed orders for once, I might not need to.”

I guffaw. “I don’t follow any man’s orders.”

You do if you get an orgasm out of it, Memnon says from absolutely nowhere.

Irrelevant, I say. Also, stop listening in on my thoughts.

I feel his smile, and then the sorcerer slips from our connection. Memnon clearly hasn’t been listening too hard; otherwise he’d know his rival is carrying me around like a baby—well, okay, more like a sack of flour. But whatever, I’m riding the dude, something I seriously doubt my archaic husband’s ass would be all cute and chill about if he were aware of it.

Kane, meanwhile, makes a low sound in his throat. “Please don’t challenge me on a night like tonight. I’m barely holding on to my form right now.”

“If you would just put me down so I could get my broom, you wouldn’t be forced to stay human.”

“Yeah, well, if I stayed back there, Sawyer would’ve kicked my ass, and I’m not super eager to spend the full moon repairing broken bones.”

That makes me go still. “Would he really have hurt you that badly?”

Kane is silent for a long moment. “Maybe,” he finally says. “Lycans can be very territorial with their mates, especially newly turned ones.”

“He’s stifling Sybil, I think.”

“Her wolf wants the companionship. She’s fighting that part of herself, probably because it scares her, but that’s also partly why she’s having trouble shifting.”

I don’t have anything to say to that. Sybil did seem reluctant about her wolf. Hopefully she sorts it out.

Ahead of us, the thin, luminous blue property line comes into sight.

“Are you going to stop at the boundary marker like you did last time?” I ask.

It’s a petty thing to ask.

“Depends,” he all but growls. “Are you going to invite me over?”

“Over the property line? Sure. Into my room? No.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, and for the life of me I wish I could see Kane’s face.

“I’ll walk you home. That’s all.”

He’s obviously using the word “walk” loosely. My feet haven’t touched the ground in a while.

Behind us, I hear Sybil’s cry, hear it morph into a howl. Several seconds later, a chorus of howls rise in response. I feel the vibrations of Kane’s own chest, and then he, too, is howling, his voice pitched perfectly.

Goose bumps break out across my skin, and instinct is telling me that I am in the arms of a predator.

I begin to wiggle again.