MACE

Kissing her was like kissing a frozen statue beneath a volcano.

Her lips were ice cold, shocked still against mine. I could taste the salt of her tears and the sheer, vibrating terror that radiated off her in waves. But beneath the cold, beneath the fear, I felt the spark. The dormant connection between us that had been humming since the moment I found her in that hell finally ignited.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. I was running on adrenaline, residual agony, and a ferocious, territorial panic. I had just watched the woman who was meant to be mine become a conduit for ancient, lethal hatred aimed specifically at...