Twisted Cage (Heirs of Deceit Book 1) by Beck Knight

Author:Beck Knight [Knight, Beck]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Beautiful Misfits Press
Published: 2024-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

I snatch my glass of whiskey, sending it splashing over my hand, and medicate myself with a massive gulp.

So why, if Logan was all the amazing things, did I go home and touch myself with Konstantin in my head, and when I came, his name on my lips???

I swallow hard. My heart hammers behind my ribs. Every rough breath strains my tight chest. The wave of grief from being a voyeur, peering into another time and place, threatens to consume.

Knowing her first kiss was just as shaped by her love and desire for me, means it belongs to me too, even if I wasn’t the first to breach her soft, full mouth.

God, I hate that he tasted her. He had no intentions of pursuing anything with her. This was just a means to an end. A way of making sure her first kiss didn't come from some selfish, clumsy kid who didn’t care about or love her the way she deserved. But did he think about their kiss every time he happened to see her since? Will he continue to think about it when he sees her in the future?

What the hell am I even thinking? Of course he will. How the hell do you look at her and not think about the way she tastes and how she moves under you? How do you forget the sounds that bubble up from deep in her throat when sensation drowns her?

You don’t. I’ve tried. God, how I’ve tried.

Those doubt-filled nights my soul agonized over the idea of never finding her, despair carved me apart, stealing a piece at a time, until I didn’t think I’d survive another day.

And when the sun came up, and air still filled my lungs, I buried the all-consuming anguish in wild carnage.

From the day she ran, I’d begun forming a strong association between the warm, fresh blood I spilled far and wide searching for her, and her.

Now I see the connection for what it was… foreshadowing.

I toss back the rest of the liquor and head for her. She has to be asleep by now and I have to make sure she is okay.

I have to assure myself she is mine. Just mine.

And the possessive, bloodthirsty monster in me has to know if my blood still remains on her lip or if she scrubbed me free.

I’ll peek in, see her with my own eyes, and I’ll go.

The handle moves freely. Not locking the door behind me has to be a good sign. If she really wanted to keep me out, she would have. Mustering up every bit of patience I have left, I turn the handle agonizingly slow, the sounds of the latch slipping free, barely a whisper of a sound.

Leaning in the doorway, my hand on the handle, I study her. The lamp next to the bed burns, the soft glow caressing her face. As my eyes adjust, I make out the tracks of dried tears streaking down her cheeks.

And there on her mouth, my blood still stains her bottom lip.

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