Lorcan & Evette

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The werewolf was covered in blood, bathed in it. Spots of it had spurted across his forehead, sticking to his hair. His mouth and teeth were covered in it, the result of tearing out vampires' throats with his teeth. His claws and hands were bathed in red, as were his clothes. Breathing heavily, he threw the blood coated sword aside, where it clattered to the laminate floor amongst a variety of dead bodies.

Behind him, Evie watched his shoulders rise and fall with each of his breaths.

Had he even heard her question?

"Lorcan?" She feared touching him, wary of the state he was in. Would he snap at her with those teeth? Would he rip her apart with those claws? He turned to face her. He looked like a dark angel. A soldier. A bloodied King.

He'd fought for her.

Evie had to know his reasoning. Had he fought to keep his bait? Or had he fought to keep his mate?

There were no traces of hazel in his eyes. She saw only pure, molten gold.

He hadn't come down from his rage yet. Or maybe he had. Maybe he'd heard her question. Maybe this was the reaction. Maybe the idea of her being his mate was so repulsive he couldn't calm himself down. Or maybe, as she felt in her bones, this was his reaction to her finding it out.

Around him, bodies were strewn all over the place. The glass coffee table had been smashed under the weight of one. Two bodies lolled awkwardly at either end of a white sofa. The living room was trashed, the carpet ruined.

The carnage and the bloodshed was her true awakening. Evie was back in the world she belonged in and there would never be any escape from it.

This was the world she'd been born in. A flawed world.

Still, the werewolf had eyes only for her. Gold, emotional eyes.

"Oh Evie." He said her name in a breath, like he was releasing all his feelings with it. When he remembered how to move, he stumbled over to her, snatching her up in those brawny arms. His muscles flexed around her, holding her tight, squeezing her to him.

This wasn't the hug he'd give to his secret weapon.

This was a hug of relief and possession. There'd been so many signs. Why hadn't she caught any?

"You're safe," He whispered, digging a hand through her long, blonde hair. His claws got stuck in it, knotted. Those claws were covered in blood.

His other hand ran down the length of her back, seeming to take all of her in, making sure everything was as it should be. It reached her ass and squeezed possessively.

"Mine," He whispered down her ear.

He was maddened. Incensed.

Could their bodies fit together any more perfectly?

She knew she was walking on thin ice with anything she had to say. Whilst the wolf was still like this, she knew better than to test him. His body was bigger than normal, a clear sign that he still hadn't calmed down.

He squeezed her tighter. "Calm your fucking heart."

It was beating out of her chest. She couldn't help it. Too much was happening. She'd just been ambushed by an army of vampires for heaven's sake. Then he'd come for her. Gods, he'd come for her. He'd fought like his life depended on it. He'd fought like she was his life.

That scrunched up piece of paper felt heavy in her pocket. She didn't tell him about it. Again, she knew better.

He'd rage if he knew.