Page 86 of The Fire Went Wild

“Yes.” I don’t take my eyes off her. “There’s no one else, Charlotte.”

She jerks her gaze away, the red deepening in her cheeks. “Well, you clearly have experience,” she says softly. “With women.”

Now it’s my turn to blush. And to consider all the ways I can answer that question. Lying makes me look the best, of course, and it’s my first inclination.

But then Charlotte looks at me again, and the lights catch the crimson highlights in her hair so she looks drenched in blood, and I know I can’t lie to her. Nother.

“Not exactly,” I say roughly.

She gives a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “What does that mean?Not exactly?”

I look out the front windshield, at the shadows crawling through the rest stop. It’s the sort of a place a Hunter feels at home. Dark and isolated and liminal.

“Human women can tell what I am,” I say softly. “Maybe not at first. But when things get—you know.” I force myself to look over at her. “They know. And they act like the prey they are.”

Charlotte’s anger shivers on the air. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” she says darkly.

She thinks I’m a rapist. The thought comes to me sharply, and I suppose it’s not entirely unfair, given what I did to her in her sleep. What I actually am, though, is worse.

Even for a Hunter.

I swallow, my throat dry. My Guardian whispers around me, although I can’t quite make out what it’s saying. “All my life I’ve been surrounded by the dead,” I finally say. “The dead are how I worship my gods. How I make my art.”

Charlotte’s face is blank, carved out by the streetlights.

“And when living women didn’t want me, I turned to dead ones.”

I wait for her to respond, my heart racing. She just keeps staring at me, eyes dark in the shadows. When she finally does speak, her voice makes me jump.

“Am I—” She hesitates like she’s considering her words. “Am I the first, um, living woman?—”

“Yes,” I blurt out. “The other ones I’ve been with never let me go as far as you.”

I wish I didn’t care so much about her reaction to this. Killing is a Hunter’s work, and everyone does it differently. Most people just kill. My family is all like that. Even they find my predilections unnatural.

Charlotte shifts and finally turns away from me, staring out at the rest stop. “Is that why you ate me out while I was asleep? Because it was like me being dead?”

Guilt stabs through my chest. “I told you. I did that because I—I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

She turns toward me then, and there’s no disgust on her face. No anger.

“And you did kill me afterward,” I add.

“You jerked off while I was doing it,” she counters. “Which I also didn’t consent to.”

Embarrassment flushes through my face. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I just—I was worked up from?—”

There’s a rustle of fabric as she leans over the console, and when I feel her warm fingers against my face I look up, startled. She peers at me.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” she says softly, fingers curling a little against my cheek. She uses just enough pressure that it’s like she’s holding me in place. “I feel like I should be furious with you. But I just—” She sighs, and her voice comes out small. “But the truth is, I kind of liked it.”

I suck in a breath. “Which part?”

Charlotte leans closer, lips parted. She’s turned on. I can feel the heat of arousal blooming in the air. “All of it,” she whispers.

Then she kisses me, firm and chaste, before settling back in her seat, her eyes never leaving mine. And suddenly I want to feel that chain around my throat again, only this time I want her pussy clamped around my dick. I want her to come from my death throes.

“And I don’t know what that says about me,” she whispers. “I’m not supposed to—” She shakes her head, looks away again. “This is all so fucked up.”