Heron Mill (The Blackwell Brothers Book 1) by K. L. Taylor-Lane

Author:K. L. Taylor-Lane [Taylor-Lane, K. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781739989767
Publisher: K. L. Taylor-Lane
Published: 2022-07-26T16:00:00+00:00

This time she doesn’t hesitate.

This time she runs.

Like a horse at the races, bolting out of the starting gate, she turns and sprints away. I watch her rush through the meadow, thigh-length, golden hair whipping behind her like glittering streamers. Floaty white dress like a breaking wave behind her. I watch her go, dark storm clouds rolling in. My cock so fucking hard I can hardly breathe.

I just had my first kiss and I know that I’ll never attempt to kiss anyone else ever again.

No one but her.

I tear my eyes away from her as she sprints through the edge of the dense forest. Into the trees. I don’t want to catch her if I can’t hunt her down first. It would ruin this hazardous game we’re playing. I don’t want to be given the prize; I want to fucking earn it. Track it, search for it, seek it out and then fucking ruin it. I’m going to destroy that beautifully misguided angel. Brutalise and torture her in every sadistic, sick little way my dark mind can summon.

I glance down, eyes on my torn t-shirt, rivulets of blood oozing slowly from my shredded skin. A smirk pricks the corner of my lips. She enjoys the pain too. It’s a mutual interest. Desire. Her innocence piqued my interest over a fortnight ago and now I’m too entangled. Unable to let her go. I can’t get her mismatched gaze out of my fucking head. I don’t think I’d be able to forget about her if I drilled into my own fucking skull and popped a bullet between my eyes. I’ve broken every fucking rule I ever set in place for myself. I wanted to stay away from people, keep myself hidden away from the oddities of the world that I find so interesting. And then the Devil himself sent one into my fucking house.

I can’t seem to punish myself enough for it, no matter what I do.

So instead, instead, I’m going to punish her for it.

My perfect little Gracie.

I stare up at the sky, fingers dragging through the blood on my chest. The raindrops increasing in speed and size, falling heavily against my face, until they’re drenching me. My hair saturated, I push it back, sweeping it off my face with my hand. I strip off my t-shirt, heaving it up over my head, leaving the tattered scrap at my feet.

Sucking in a deep breath, I fill my lungs with cool air and start forward. My boots marching me across the field, the horses already beneath a copse of trees. I cross the meadow, the yellow buttercups closed up without the sunlight, hiding from the dark. I sweep across the overgrown grass, a funnelled-out trail from Grace’s bare feet. A road map to her starting point. I hit the tree line and pause, raking my fingers back through my soaked hair, listening. I cock my head, close my eyes. Thrown off by the fact that when I suck in a deep breath, stick out my tongue, tasting the air, I realise trying to catch her scent will never work.

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