“You’re kidding. Right?” Kylarra Knox stared at her mate, Verrick Conrad. She didn’t just stare. Her jaw all but dropped on the damp pavement. They’d stopped for a rest and bathroom break after she threatened to leap off the motorcycle, or pee on the bike. That one got the reaction. Verrick’s pack didn’t bother to leave their bikes when they did. Just Ky.
But then she was a woman despite being a damn werewolf and she couldn’t damn well hold it for the days it would take to get home. If these alphas thought for one second she’d put up with that sort of pain . . . well, they had another thing coming. If Verrick wanted her anywhere near cooperative, he had to meet certain demands.
Like the one where his mate told him she could either pee on him and the bike—oh no, not his precious Harley!—or leap off the back. He followed her into the woods as if she would attempt to leave him. She almost wanted to laugh, but she was serious about having to go. The knot in her bladder held out for twenty-four hours. No more. They were approaching the halfway mark to home.
Then while her bare rear end practically sat on the cold forest floor, he had the audacity to have a chat with her. Kylarra leapt up, hating the men for their male anatomy and them not understanding how it felt to have to pull up one’s pants after squatting in the woods. Lycaen or not, she wasn’t an animal. It wasn’t fun. A snake could bite her butt!
Kylarra wasn’t sure what she expected. The way Verrick acted, the promises he made to consummate their pairing as soon as he could get her home. It’d been his idea. Practically demanded it.
What she didn’t expect is for sanity to slide back in and for her “mate” to tell her he needed a beer.
Seriously? A beer? He wanted a beer? Now?
Every step Verrick made to close the gap, she reclaimed her sanity by moving back, but she was cold. She killed a man. For no other purpose than pleasure. Sloan wasn’t a human, nor what one would deem a man per se, but she killed him. And the taste of pungent blood still lay on her tongue. She spat every chance she got, but it didn’t help. It wasn’t just the feeling of a penny stuck on her tongue. There was a tiny inkling that slipped in to get more, as if she wanted the blood.
“What?” He regarded her. “You took the time to pee, I’m taking the time to get a beer.” He tilted his head ever so. Enough so that one of those long curls drifted over his liquid chocolate eyes. Combine it with that fantasy smooth voice with such delicious depth and her nerves picked up pace.
The innocent boy Verrick could portray meant little. It was the look in his eye after the phone call. After that phone call he’d decided he wanted a beer. When she killed Sloan, he’d been off to the side when she heard the vibration in his pocket. Verrick enjoyed watching her and his pack kill on his order—why wouldn’t he?—and Kylarra didn’t expect anything to tear him away from the show.
Then he got that phone call. He’d wandered off quite a ways to answer it. Away from his men and her. The two he trusted most. He’d kept a close eye on her as if she’d be able to hear him. He honestly seemed suspicious, which she didn’t get at all. Why? She couldn’t hear any better than before.
She fought the urge to want more of the blood with every inch of nerve she could grasp onto. All those sounds, those feelings. Kylarra remembered standing up when she heard that vibration in Verrick’s pocket.
Reality slammed home.
She was absolutely disgusted with herself. It was as if something else overcame her. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want that. Verrick knew how to get her to react. He used her. Kylarra wanted to knock him out for it. Only trouble?
Verrick. He got close to her after his little rendezvous with the phone and slid an arm around her waist. Her lids drooped. A low moan slipped out. His lips quirked, sensing her thoughts the way only Verrick could.
Kylarra caught herself sucking on her bottom lip. She jerked it out of her mouth with a wet smack. Clearing her voice, she snapped upright. “Knock it off.” Waving an arm toward him, she said, “This reaction and he wants a damn beer.”
Verrick raised one large shoulder and crossed the forest floor. Kylarra stepped back and then again. She pointed a threatening finger at him. “Only adds to it and you know it,” he said with a dangerously adorable smirk.
Kylarra’s cheeks blushed furiously. He’d already told her he planned to wait until they were home, and she mostly believed he would. Still, with Verrick, one never knew. “Don’t you dare.”
Which is exactly what she shouldn’t have said. His thick brown eyebrow slid up in challenge. “Shouldn’t I?” Kylarra went to gain distance and Verrick got his arm around her waist, then far too easily, hefted her up.
Kylarra gasped and shoved him, attempting to get back out of those damnable arms. Verrick chuckled when her fight made her mouth get all that closer. A soft exhale slipped out of her when the scent from his warm leather coat caressed her nose. “You put me down, Verrick Conrad.”
Damn that smirk. If he wanted to destroy her defenses, all he had to do was give her that grin. Lifetimes slid around her. The ones she’d dreamed about as a child and fought, the ones she imagined as a teen that she ran from and gave up when he went away to those schools. And the ones she’d been unconsciously putting into place in her dreams the past few nights while stuck with Sloan. It hadn’t been planned at all.
It was just . . . just . . . well, this man made her happy. As much as she wanted to punch his face half the time. He made her so incredibly happy. Like stupid make fun of them happy. And his smirk screwed with her mind.
“Kylarra,” he whispered, knowing how well it got to her. She shook her head. No. Not going to happen.
“Take those sparkling perfect eyes and shove them up your butt.”
Verrick gently and with far too enticing hands, slid her body down his. A low rumble of desire vibrated into her body as she moved down. Her lids drooped. A purr of delight left her. Kylarra’s feet touched the ground. Good God. Verrick slipped a hand around the back of her neck and then up into her hair. His lips curled up when she tilted her face up.
“Kylarra,” he whispered once more, slowly dragging out her name. Her eyes drifted closed. He smelled like a mix of sweat, leather, sandalwood, cedar, and grease as he got even closer. Not enough to touch, but she felt his presence. Verrick slid his other hand up inside the back of her shirt.
Kylarra wanted to tell him knock it off. She did. She didn’t want to give him permission, but her body gave, and she leaned into that body so hot as it always was. Verrick’s lips touched hers and the electrical surge that always existed between them exploded.
He kissed her until all sense left her. Then he pulled back. His eyes shown with the beast wanting to take her then and there. Kylarra quivered. Damn if that wasn’t exactly what she wanted. Verrick slipped his mouth toward her ear and nipped her lobe. “I need a beer.”
A snarl tore out of her and she bashed her palms into his chest. “Goddammit, Verrick Conrad, I’m going to kill you one of these days!” She stormed off toward the bikes with his amusement following. She knew he wasn’t laughing at her because if he dared laugh at her, boy she’d never let him touch her. Verrick—the arrogant damn wolf behind her—laughed because he knew she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
Which was right!
And it pissed her off when he played with her feelings.
Two can play that game, Verrick Conrad.
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Law of the Beast is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, stories, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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