Edge of Hunger. Rhyannon ByrdЧитать онлайн книгу.
beauty was going to be sweet payback against Buchanan. She hoped he told everyone in Henning about tonight. Hoped Ian would hear all about how wildly sheâd ridden this gorgeous stranger beneath the hazy light of the moon.
His teeth grazed her flesh, making her shiver and she started to call out his nameâ¦only to draw a blank.
Holy shit! She couldnât remember it! The thought struck Kendra as hilariously funny and she gave an uncharacteristic giggle, making him grin against the underside of her breast. Ohâ¦wouldnât her mother love to know that a man she couldnât even name was pressing his mouth against her naked skin, kissing his way up to the hollow of her throat.
âTell me how bad you want it,â he whispered, nipping at her shoulder in a way that had her blood surging.
She grabbed at his denim-covered cock, and he laughed softly under his breath.
âBeg me, honey. I love to hear a woman begging for it.â His breath washed over her throat as he rasped the words against her sensitive flesh, his hands sliding across her ass, fingers kneading her through the denim of her jeans. âBeg me to make you scream.â
âPlease,â she gasped, tilting her head to give him better access, ignoring the sudden warning note in her head that signaled something wasnâtâ¦quite right.
Just go with it, Kendra. He can make you forget. Forgetâ¦everything. Forgetâ¦Ian.
Almost as if the stranger had read her mind, he pressed his forehead to hers, whispering, âDonât worry, Kendra. After Iâm done with you tonight, there wonât be anything left for Buchanan.â
She pulled back to look up at him, and her breath caught. Something about his face seemedâ¦she didnât know. Different somehow. She blinked her heavy lids, trying to bring him back into focus through her blurry vision, but her eyes refused to cooperate. Then one hand lifted, cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking gentlyâ¦so gently against the corner of her mouth. In the moment, she forgot everything but his touch. It was reverent. Like a loverâsâand she realized that in all the time sheâd known him, Ian had never touched her like this. Like she was special to him. Her lower lip trembled. She sighed, floating, somehow lost in the searing heat of this strangerâs gaze.
Then he smiled.
The curve of his lips was so beautiful, it took her tequila-soaked mind a moment to realize what heâd just said.
Buchanan! What theâ¦? How did this manâthis newcomer to the mountainsâknow about her and Ian?
âHowââ
âShhâ¦â he whispered, pressing his hand over her mouth. âNo more time for questions.â
He gave a low, rough laugh, and Kendra watched in shock as his face seemed to rearrange itself within his skin. She heard something pop, then crack, followed by the chilling sound of bone snapping into place.
Panicking, she turned to run but stumbled. He had her down before sheâd gone more than a few yards, his muscled weight crushing her into the damp ground.
âThatâs my girl,â he murmured, flipping her to her back and pinning her arms above her head with an effortless strength that awed as much as it terrified. She watched through wide, burning eyes as his intent spread across the distorted features of his face like a stain, and a choked sound broke from her throat. A dry cry lost somewhere between a sob and a whimper. âNo more time to play, Kendra,â he whispered. âOnly time enough to die.â
And he wasnât lying.
Everything that happened after that came to her in nothing but broken fragmentsâconsciousness shattered by terror and disbelief and indescribable pain. She wanted to cry, but her mind was too numb. She wanted to fight back, but her body lay there upon the blood-soaked ground, too broken and weak.
She wanted to tear the son of a bitch to pieces, the same way he was tearing her apartâbut in that, she failed, as well.
Heâd cut her; deep slices in her stomachâ¦her chest? She couldnât tell; she hurt everywhere. Even deep inside, where heâd ripped her open with the vicious pounding of his body into hers. Everything fadedâthe sapphire stars in the sky, the chirping of the grasshoppers, the rich pine scent of the towering treesâuntil there was nothing. Nothing but the great rolling waves of pain that made everything black and ugly and raw.
She thought of Ian, and realized how stupid sheâd been.
But her last thought, as his teeth sank into her throat, was that mother had been right after all.
And wasnât life such a bitch of a waste.
Then Kendra Wilcox thought no more.
CHAPTER THREE
Saturday Morning, 3 a.m.
IAN WAS DREAMING OF HOME. Dreaming of the Deep South in the late fall, when he was young. It was the same strange dream heâd been having since heâd run away at sixteen. He sat huddled around a crackling fireplace with his small family. Dinner simmered on the stove, filling the weathered house with the rich scent of beans and corn bread, while young Riley sprawled on the threadbare rug and little Saige cuddled on his motherâs lap, begging for another story about their ancestors.
âMany years ago,â his mother murmured, âbefore this country was even discovered, our ancestors walked the earth, but they werenât like usââ
âThey were Merricks, werenât they?â Saige interrupted, all but bouncing with excitement.
âYes, sweetheart,â his mother answered with a smile, âthey most certainly were.â
âAnd they kicked butt, didnât they?â his brother added, grinning a little.
His mother winked at Riley. âThat they did.â
âUntil the Casus massacred them,â Ian inserted drily, sitting on the floor by the fire. He wrapped his thin arms around his scuffed knees; his lip curled in a snide expression his mother had always said was too scornful to belong to a twelve-year-old.
âThatâs not true!â Saige protested, sticking her tongue out at him.
âOh, yeah? Why do you think theyâre all dead?â
âBut theyâre not all dead,â his mother said softly, and all three heads turned sharply toward her, big eyes curious and uncertain. This was a strange twist, for the stories had never taken this direction before. Not once, in all the countless tellings.
âWhat do you mean theyâre not dead?â he asked quietly, though his words sounded belligerent and hard against the heavy silence of the house. He fought the urge to flinch as a log cracked sharply in the fireplace, the wet wood popping, then splitting.
Their motherâs slim brows arched high on the worry-wrinkled span of her brow. âDid I ever say they were dead?â
âIf theyâre not deadââ his eyes narrowed in suspicion ââthen where are they?â
âRight under your nose,â she explained with a small smile that made him feel a little sick inside. She held his stare, the corners of her mouth curving just the tiniest bitâa strange glow warming the deep, dark blue of her eyes. âAnd one day, when the darkness calls to you,â she whispered, her voice so low he could barely hear the words, âwhen you can feel it in your bones, feel it roaring through your veins, in the beat of your heartâwhen your dreams are no longer your own, Ianâyouâre going to meet him.â
Trapped within the oppressive layers of sleep, Ian stared at his smiling mother until his vision became