Page 87 of Bound By Fury

Always watching.

But when I do anyway, he’s boring a hole into our bodies, his mouth twisted into a sneer as he narrows in on the place where Lucas’s mouth meets my skin. Where our chests graze. Where we fit together like lock and key.

Irises darkened with a fury that makes my heart race. But I have fury of my own.

And this is how I know there’s something sick inside me. Something deeply, truly broken. I run my hands down Lucas’s chest and turn my head, pressing our lips together once again, but my eyes never leave Malachi.

His teeth are bared. The knob in the center of his throat bobs like it hurts to swallow. The cup in his hand is crushed within his fist.

I smile against Lucas’s mouth.

Because fuck him, that’s why. The fire that lights within me at the sight of Malachi’s anger—the sheer hatred that spews from his gaze at the sight of Lucas and me together—is stoked into a blaze.

I’d thought we’d reached some sort of tenuous truce, but I guess I was wrong.

I slide my fingers through Lucas’s midnight curls and let the feeling between us build until the image of scarlet hair and a galaxy of freckles is erased from my mind.

When we finally break apart, I grab Lucas’s hand and run my tongue over kiss-swollen lips. “Let’s get out of here,” I murmur, desperate to cling on to this feeling, to see just how much else I can erase.

TWENTY-NINE

AS WE SNAKE OUR WAY through the thinning crowd, I crane my neck, searching for Daisy or Sam to let them know I’m leaving, but I don’t see them.

I let Lucas lead me away from the party and the half-dead fire pit. I’m anxious, hungry for privacy. Thirsty for an escape. To channel everything from the last few months into the way our bodies touch. Even if I can only conjure visions of someone else.

Instead of following the trail that leads back to campus, he pulls me farther into the trees.

“Where are we going?” I ask, amused by how he seems to know exactly where to step to avoid tripping in the dark.

“There’s this old cabin my dad uses sometimes for guests or adjunct teachers. It’s the only place to get real privacy around here.”

We turn onto a path worn into the brush from years of use. Solar lanterns swing from the branches of the trees surrounding a peculiar opening and a squat cabin with a cross nailed to the door.

“Really?” I ask, pausing.

“This cabin belonged to the old Biltmores. They were a little freaky. Crosses on the doors and garlic in their socks. Wards against the evil stalking through Appalachia.”

My smile falters at the edges.

“It’s… a little creepy,” I admit.

He tugs me close, throwing his arm over my shoulder. “You’re so strange,” he says, and I can tell from the way he says it that he means it in the most adoring way. “I figured you’d like it.”

I laugh because he’s right, I am strange. But so is he.

We’re quiet as we ascend the creaky wooden steps, as he opens the door and pulls me inside.

It’s cozy and warm, with a worn, green couch made of corduroy and a buffalo plaid blanket flung over the top. There’s a small kitchenette and a tiny lamp in the corner that gives the smallest golden glow.

By the time the door is shutting behind us, the tension is nearly sentient, slithering between us, pulling us together. Lucas’s hand tightens on my own as he guides me back until I’m flush against the wall and his fingers are trailing down my sides.

My heartbeat thunders in my chest. “What now?” I ask, head spinning.

How much did I drink?

“Shhh.” His breath glides across my lips. “Stay here.” He points at me as he backs away, his long arm reaching out to pull the cord of the lamp until we’re plunged into the pitch-black dark.

“We don’t need the light,” he murmurs as he walks back to me, slowly. So slowly. “It’s more fun without it.”