Okay, fine, it wouldn’t, but I’m all for the wild sex that would go along with it.
I stare up at him. “You’re not going to be weird about this the next time we see each other?”
Kane pauses, his breath coming in quick pants. “No. Are you?”
“Without a doubt.”
He smiles at that. “It’s all right, Selene. I like your brand of weird.” He punctuates the statement by nuzzling my face, then rubbing his cheek against mine, an action that seems distinctly wolfish.
“Besides,” he adds, “you seem to think things will go back to the way they were before tonight.”
I frown, turning to him. “They won’t?”
Instead of answering me, Kane bends down to kiss me again. It feels like the sort of kiss that’s meant to show rather than tell his intentions. And the slow glide of his lips and the sensual rocking of his hips make me think that maybe I’m supposed to believe he really does want more from me than just one night.
Part of me thrills at the thought, but then another part of me is vehemently against that. I don’t know why.
Kane reaches for the shoulder of my dress. He moves the material away and brushes his lips along the exposed skin. My breath hitches.
I need more.
I sit up, forcing Kane back so he’s kneeling, my legs still draped around him.
Then I remove my arms, one by one, from the stretchy material of my dress to let it pool at my waist.
Those wolfish eyes look hungry as he takes me in. I feel decidedly self-conscious in my tattered nude bra, but whatever, it’s not going to be on for long.
My magic stirs, tugging at my heart and skimming over my skin as I reach for Kane’s shirt. I feel my power slip past the shifter, reaching for something across my room and out my window.
My attention is drawn back to Kane when he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off, then tosses it aside.
Shirtless Kane is a sight to behold. He’s all taut, packed muscle.
His nostrils flare as I take him in, as though he’s breathing in my desire.
Crap, he probably is. Lycanthropes can smell everything.
Before I can react, he leans into me, cupping my face as his lips find mine once more.
We fall back onto my bed, wrapped up in each other. I’m running my hands up his sides when I feel what I swear is Memnon’s magic back against my skin, stroking, stroking…
I gasp at the feel of it, my body electrified by its touch. It creeps up my arms, drawing out my gooseflesh.
I look for the magic, and this time, I do see the indigo plumes of it moving over my flesh—plumes Kane can’t see and probably can’t much sense either.
It hits me then—beyond the booze and the haze of desire—that the sorcerer who has been in my head this evening, has also been using his magic to draw out my desire.
One of those strands of magic now curls in on itself against my upper arm while Kane kisses my neck. It looks so innocuous, and beneath it, my flesh puckers. As I watch, that magic thickens.
If Memnon’s power is here, then…then he must be close by.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I push against Kane’s chest, forcing the shifter to sit up as Memnon’s magic grows around us.
“What is it?” Kane says, his gaze hooded with desire.
“You need to go,” I say, giving him another push to get him moving.
The shifter stays stubbornly where he is. “Did I do something wrong?”
The indigo magic now floods the room, and my intuition—intuition I steadfastly ignored all evening—is screaming forewarnings at me.
“I have more issues than just my memory,” I tell him, scrambling to get up and forcing my arms back into my dress sleeves. The power around me has changed, no longer sensual but agitated, violent.
“You need to go,” I insist. “Now.”
At the direct order, I see Kane’s eyes flash, and I feel his own dominance rise at the challenge. “I’m not—”
BOOM!
The entire house rocks, and my window shatters. Something slams into Kane, and a split-second later, his body hits the wall, the plaster buckling under the force.
I hear a wolfish yelp at the impact, and as Kane crumples to the floor, a massive man looms over the shifter. I don’t need to see the sleeve of tattoos running down his arm to know who it is.
“Memnon!” I cry, my stomach bottoming out as the sorcerer drags Kane back to his feet. “Stop!”
Memnon somehow manages to make Kane look small and boyish as he lifts the lycan by the throat.
To my horror, Kane’s eyes have shifted, and his teeth have sharpened.