Chapter 3

A stifling tension permeated the air. Veronica’s pulse was pounding in her ears, her body still humming from the ghost of Damien’s touch. Her lips tingled; his fingers had burned the top layer of skin where he’d grazed her. “His eyes burned with a kind of primitive hunger, a quality she had never tasted until now, the intensity and wild suffering that would fill the space between them when he spoke. And yet Aunt Vivianne’s warning rang in her ears. Prepare for war. Damien was on the opposite side of the room, his broad chest rising and falling with long, even breaths, as if he were barely keeping himself intact. His muscles in knots and his hands balled into fists at his sides, the blood of the rogue he had ripped apart down in the lower level still smeared on his palms. “You’ll be wanting to rest,” Vivianne said through a sore throat. "We leave at first light." Veronica barely heard her. Her focus remained on Damien. On the quiet battle raging, the chemistry was so explosive it was lethal between them. Vivianne pivoted and disappeared down the hallway, leaving them alone in the dim room. Light from the fireplace cast long shadows that leapt like overexcited phantoms across the walls. Damien exhaled sharply. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, Veronica.” Her jaw tightened. "Then tell me." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I can’t." Anger ignited within her. “You keep saying, but you don’t.” In one blurred rush of motion, he was in front of her. Too close. His heat cloaked her, and his scent was earthy and musky and something darker that wrapped thick around her senses. His hand cupped at the back of her neck, his fingers threading in her hair. “I’m dangerous,” he growled. Her breath hitched. "Then prove it." The last thread of his restraint snapped. He slammed her body against the wooden wall, his body on top of hers, pinning her. When his lips crashed against hers hot, demanding, and brutal, a growl rumbled low in his chest. Veronica inhaled the kiss, but she didn’t flinch. Her body arched beneath him, fingers sinking into his shoulders, nails scraping at his skin. His control had unraveled from the moment he’d looked at her, but now, with her body molded to his, he was savage.” He bit down on her bottom lip, and she let out a moan, her fingers weaving into his hair. The noise poured fire into his veins. He hefted her like she was weightless, pressing her higher against the wall, and her instinct was to wrap her legs around his waist. His hands wandered, roaming over the curves he had dreamed of touching for years, memorizing the heat of her skin. She was intoxicating. And he was already addicted. But then The scent hit him. Blood. Not hers. Outside. Damien flipped away from her and gasped. Shaping beneath boundless dusk, eyes glazed in lust, every one of his senses sharpening to a singular tempered blade that savored warm iron in the air. His protective instincts stepped in, crushing his desire in an instant. Something is coming, he sneered. Before Veronica could even register what just happened, an ear-splitting boom erupted from below. The front door burst in, wood splintering, the force shaking the entire house. Damien shoved Veronica backward, who screamed as his body doubled over as soon as they touched. Bones broke, fur sprouted along his arms, and his claws lengthened as a savage snarl tore from his throat. Amid the dust and splintered timber, figures emerged. Not rogues. Worse. Hunters. Clad in dark combat gear and silver weaponry that glinted in the fire’s light, they moved with deadly precision. The one who had been in the front, tall and ice-blue-eyed, stepped forward, gazing at Damien with an air of clarity of intent. “Move along, wolf,” he commanded. "We’re not here for you." Damien let out a bone-rattling growl. "Like hell you aren’t." The hunter smirked. "Fine. Have it your way." The first shot rang out. Silver bullet. Just in the nick of time, a whizz and then a touch on his shoulder with fire as it passed through his body. He howled as he sprang forward with lethal speed; claws tore the nearest hunter to ribbons. Blood flowed onto the asphalt as the man fell—but more came rushing in. “Rags” were Veronica’s gasping breaths. Panic clawed at her insides, but she wouldn’t be useless. Grabbing a heavy iron poker from the fireplace, she swung it just as a hunter charged toward her. The impact made a sickening crunching sound that echoed through the room. The hunter recoiled, clutching his bloody face. Veronica didn’t hesitate; she swung again, this time putting him out cold. But another hit her from behind. A knife held to her throat. “Enough! ” the leader shouted, stopping them all in their tracks. Damien whirled, wheezing and furious, fangs bared, rage of the beast lighting his eyes. The hunter squeezed tighter around Veronica, the knife digging into her just enough to draw a thin line of blood. “Stand down,” said the hunter. "Or she dies." The air congealed, becoming oppressively still. Damien’s hands shook with rage, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he didn’t move from his place. His gaze found Veronica’s, some primal, urgent thing cavorting in the depths. Veronica’s mind raced. She refused to be a pawn. As the hunter looked elsewhere, she pitched her weight back and stomped down hard on his foot. He grunted, loosening his grip ever so slightly. She didn’t hesitate. Adrenalin pumping, she spun round again, grasped the handle of the knife, and drove it deep into his side. The hunter choked, and his hands went limp. That was when Damien lunged, and Veronica pushed him back and staggered away. Rage overtook him. He gutted the man, claws shredding through flesh as blood sprayed the walls. The other hunters scurried backward, pulling the wounded behind them. Leaning forward, the leader pinched his eyes and dabbed a trace of blood from his mouth. “This isn’t over,” he hissed. And then, they were gone. And night took them but left carnage. Veronica shook her head and put her hands to her racing heart. She was cool and gleaming with sweat; she was breathless. The bloodstained air tasted metallic in her mouth and churned her stomach. Damien looked over at her, half-shifted, breathing deep gulps of air into his chest. His eyes—those dark, haunted, golden eyes—met hers. "Are you hurt?" he rasped. She shook her head, but she was full of fucking shit. It was a small wound, but there. A line of pink blood coursed down the length of her neck, where the hunter’s cut had grazed her. Damien saw it. His eyes darkened. And then he was on her again. Not in violence. But in something just as raw. His mouth was a devouring thing on hers, fear crazed and feral and frenzied, licking down the adrenaline and the fear and the blood. She met him with equal force, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body pressing up against his. He lifted her without effort, raced with her through streaked and crumbled refuse, away from the carnage. Tonight, they would take. They would claim. They would ruin each other. And when the morning came The war would begin.