For almost a year, I hadn’t been to a party with them. While I spent virtually every weekend with them, and in his bed, I hadn’t been out with them. I knew while I worked, they did things that were insidious. I saw the spots of blood they tried to hide from me, but they never invited me to a party again.

Part of me was thankful they didn’t.

Could I have said no to them?

Probably not.

What they did didn’t scare me as it would someone who hadn’t seen blood or a dead body before. Hours and hours I sat with a dead body when I was a kid. That kind of thing was hard to forget. Especially the way the blood changed colors as it spread across the floor.

My reaction wasn’t normal, and I was fine with that.

Let’s face it, they weren’t normal either, and I thought maybe I was fine with that as well.

They were just... different.

When I had bad thoughts, I didn’t act on them. Yet, they had bad thoughts, and Toska acted on them every time. Even Syler. I knew how good he was with that hatchet, he practiced almost every day throwing it in the small backyard of their house. I would sit out there for hours watching him tire himself while honing his skills. He was a fascinating man to watch, the way his back muscles would clench when he pulled his hand back to throw, the way they contracted once he’d thrown it.

I was falling in love, and this was obvious to everyone around us. Syler still wasn’t comfortable with me touching him, even if I snuck my hand down his chest while he slid into me making me scream. But those actions would usually end up with him eventually pinning my hands above my head.

Last night, though, he didn’t move them. My hands gripped his sides, my nails digging in as he pushed me against his window and proceeded to fuck me against it. I knew my hands were about to be moved, but he never touched them.

His eyes closed then reopened, darkening just a tad, before he pushed into me harder, leaning in to kiss my lips. It was progress. Even though it was small, to me it was everything. Not even Toska was allowed to touch him, yet here I was marking him with my nails and more importantly he let me.

The days I didn’t see him or Toska were clarifying. It made me see how intoxicating they were to me. How much I was lost in their world when I was with them. The drugs, the drinks, the blood. I was just a visitor in their world, taking a back seat, and waiting for my stop. That stop had to come soon, I knew it, but I was also hopeful it didn’t come, because he was mine and no longer all hers. Because even if I had small pieces of him right now, she’d had him for a long time, and that thought was vexing.

It was the weekend, and it had been two nights since I’d seen either of them. Toska and I had been working separate shifts, so we hadn’t seen much of each other. Walking out of work, I spotted Syler waiting by his car. He was leaning against the car door, dressed in black jeans. His muscles were strangled inside his dark blue shirt, and people who walked past couldn’t help but stare. You had to look even if you didn’t want to, because he was someone you couldn’t pass without marveling at. The older women checked him out as well as the men.

Syler Hunter made my girl parts sing. And he knew it.

Stepping up to him, I got close enough that I could reach out and touch him, but I didn’t. I’d been with him long enough to know not to do it. His hand reached out, touched my cheek, and played with a stray piece of my hair.

“I have my car,” I told him, glancing back to my car parked not far from his. He dropped my hair, his hands going to the pockets of his jeans.

“I know, Mouse. You can’t come tonight.”

My eyes squinted at him. “Do you have plans?” I asked him, knowing what their plans entailed.

“She’s bad tonight. Her mind’s not right. Don’t come tonight.”

I nodded my head then took a step back, my breathing returning to normal. I didn’t even realize I was breathing so heavily.

“Next week then?” I asked, turning.

He stopped me with his hand touching mine. Looking to our hands and then to him, I didn’t try to squeeze or grip his hands like I normally would. Pulling my hand free, I tucked my handbag up near my shoulder and walked away, not glimpsing back to my Wolf, because tonight he might be someone else’s devil delivering them to his personal hell.

***

IT WAS LATE WHEN THERE was a noise at my window. I was lying in bed reading the latest Stephen King novel, so I ignored it, thinking it was from the rain or my imagination, but then the noise came again. Looking over, I saw him, his hand on the glass, his eyes so green, penetrating me.

Jumping up, I pulled the window sash open and stepped back so he could climb in. Gazing over my shoulder, I made sure my bedroom door was shut and locked. Even though I was of age, the last thing I wanted was my father coming in. Then I wanted to laugh at that thought—my father paying me any attention was a ludicrous thought. That’s a laugh within itself.

Stepping back, my knees hit my bed. I sat and watched him climb through. He was wet, soaked from the rain. Syler’s hand ran through his hair as he pushed it back. His eyes were hooded as he looked at me.

“Where is she?” I asked.

He stepped closer to me. He was close now, and the moment his hands touched me, I was his.

“She’s playing.”

I squinted and squished my eyebrows together.

Toska should never be left alone.

She was certifiably batshit crazy, and he loved every bit of it. Every bit of her. She was all he had.

But what about me?

Where did that leave me?

I shook my head and rid those thoughts before they took hold.

“Should she be playing without you there?” I asked.

Syler stepped even closer. I was his prey, a willing prey. “Let’s not discuss her...”

I nodded my head as his hand touched me. I had nothing on but a silk slip dress. His hand dropped lower until it reached my already hardened nipples, and through the dress he pinched them.

“What are we, Mouse?” His hands dropped until he touched the hem, and he lifted the dress over my head.

“Lovers.”

The dress was now on the floor beside his foot. Syler leaned down and bit my shoulder, most likely leaving a mark, before his mouth found my nipple. He played with it, then made a popping sound as he sucked hard and removed his mouth, then he stood back up. He lifted his shirt over his head, revealing his perfectly sculpted body. Light scars scattered his torso, but I was never allowed to ask or touch, so I made my own theories.

Then he unbuckled his belt from his jeans, the top button undone revealing his perfect treasure trail as he grabbed both of my hands, tying them together with his belt. His mouth touched mine once they were tied in front of me, and he kissed me with his lips and then there was a taste of his tongue before he whispered, “Not lovers, Mouse. Never lovers.”

“What are we then?” I asked with a whimpering tone to my voice.

He laughed lightly. “You’re my prey.”

Syler never said my name, unless we were fucking. Even then sometimes he didn’t say my name. It always depended on our situation. If it was a quick fuck, there was no talking, only screaming allowed. If it were playtime—him playing with me—he would say my name, and I never loved hearing it more than when it left his lips.

He was like my poison chalice. Because I knew drinking from him one day would kill me. Yet, I still didn’t run. Instead I drank heavily from that chalice. What a fool I was.

“Prey,” I said, mimicking his words.

He dropped his trousers then pushed me back onto the bed. I laid flat with him hovering over top of me, his eyes boring into me.

Sometimes I thought we were normal—like a normal couple—but we weren’t. We were far from it. I don’t even know if I was the only woman he saw, well, fucked. He was the only one I saw, though. He was enough for me.

Those breaks we had from each other, I needed them. He consumed me and held me in his vice grip, so much so that I forgot to breathe my own air, and instead, I got stuck breathing his. I only finally breathed correctly when I was by myself, and the fog of Syler had lifted from my brain. But I keep going back, because like a poisoned chalice, you knew it would kill you but the allure was all too tempting.

He lifted my hands up above my head, pushing my breasts further up in the air for him. He always paid them special attention, and I loved it, because the way his mouth worked on my nipples and between my legs was a thing of miracles. Syler Hunter was anything but a miracle, but in the bedroom, he was the best I’d ever had.

His hands slipped under the arch of my back.

“Keep your arms touching the bed.”

I nodded and did as I was told. He lifted me slightly, my head still touching the bed along with my hands, as he licked a path down between my breasts and down my stomach until he reached my clit. His tongue lapped at it, moving in circles around it, making me squirm and want to drop my back, but I didn’t.

Then he licked all the way down my slit, his tongue sliding into my entrance before he let go of my back and removed his body from mine. I was squirming, the need I felt to have him inside me was strong. I didn’t know how long I could wait. Syler never disappointed me, though.

He pulled my legs apart, so I was basically doing the splits, and then he slid his hands up my legs to cup my ass, and as he lifted he slammed into me.

Syler growled as I turned my head to cover my yelp by biting my own shoulder. He didn’t relent though. He punished me with his cock, while he kept my legs spread wide. He had all of me right now, and I loved every minute of it.

One hand left my leg, and I turned my head to watch him. He dipped his finger into his mouth as he continued to fuck me, then pulled it out, reaching between us as he touched my clit, playing with it.

“Syler,” I said.

I was close, not much longer and his name was going to be the last thing on my lips before I passed out. He knew this and did what he’d come to do with me lately. His hands wrapped around my neck and he choked me. Not overly heavily, just enough for me to see stars and be on the brink of passing out as we both came. The first time he did it, I thought he was going to kill me. Now I understood that it was his kink, and a kink that made my pleasure of coming all that much fucking higher.

To be loved by Syler Hunter was in a book of fiction.

Because a man with no heart wasn’t capable of love.

He was only there for my pleasure.

That’s what I told myself when he wrapped himself around me at night as we fell asleep.

Because despite my stupid heart trying to give itself to him, my logical heart knew it was safer locked away from him.

Fuck.