Blood Sport

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Less than an hour had passed since he kissed Reagan. Less than an hour since he felt her lips against his for the first time in sixteen years. He didn't want to be dramatic, but that kiss—as short as it may have been—was both cataclysmic and devastating.

Everything he felt for her had been reborn, memories charging to the surface from years ago.

Need to kiss her again—

One time wasn't enough.

It'd never be enough again.

He remembered all the kisses from before. The way her tongue felt brushing against his. The cherry softness of her lips and the delicacy of their sweet touch upon his skin.

He recalled the perfection of her body enraptured by his. The way her legs would curl around his figure as he eased his cock inside her. The responsiveness of her core to each of his thrusts. The way her eyes would fill with emotion as she viced herself to him.

A kiss was never going to be enough.

He'd had one. Now he needed more. His appetite didn't end with a kiss.

What are you doing to me Reagan?

The worst part was that she wasn't trying. She didn't want anything to do with him. She didn't want to investigate the bond between them. If she had her way, they'd be standing in completely different realms now too. Hell, he'd be six feet under.

Which was what he wanted. Not that last part. He liked his heart beating and his head on his shoulders. But distance was a good idea. Kissing her had shaken everything up.

She was right about history repeating itself.

Already, sticking to his rough outline of a plan didn't seem so tempting. He wanted to add a half witch to the mix and see how she adapted to the environment. These thoughts were dangerous. Too dangerous. Better left alone.

Can't get you out of my head.

It'd been an hour.

By no means had he been hiding, but he hadn't positioned himself somewhere she might go to find him.

He simply stood in a corridor where the castle staff could find him if they needed to. He waited on more information surrounding the castle's latest prisoner. Should Reagan head this way, it'd be a happy coincidence for them both.

Most of all, he was still confused about the little things she kept hinting at.

He could understand why she thought he'd left her to die once. That day on the execution field was set up to look like he'd left her there. But fuck, he'd been in a hurry to make sure he got to her on time. Everything was set to run smoothly until that guard came to take him to his Uncle. Refusing would've looked suspicious. Hell, he'd prayed for his Uncle's immediate death just to get him out of the room.

And if she'd let him talk for longer than a minute, he could explain to her how that entire thing was one big terrible misunderstanding.

He remembered standing in that field alone surrounded by the dead bodies of the witnesses after discovering her ability to shapeshift, adopting the powers of whoever's appearance she took on. He'd stared dumbly. The environment didn't make sense. Nothing had made sense. His heart thudded too loud for him to hear. He'd grasped at the air as if he could pull her back. He'd spun in a circle to see if she'd reappeared somewhere nearby.

He'd yelled in anguish before the sun drove him back inside to the corpses of his King and Queen.

A day that was supposed to be successful had turned out to be one of the worst days of his life.