Page 3 of The Devil Takes

Maybe the cold was driving me crazy.

Maybe I’d used the word maybe way too much tonight.

I wasn’t sure I would be able to move, let alone run, should the voice be anything but my imagination. It wouldn’t be that surprising if I wasn’t alone tonight. If there was something far scarier hidden deep within the woods than a devil that didn’t show his face. In a town as small as Madison, you’d think the likelihood of something dangerous lurking inside the woods would be low, but I wasn’t sure I believed that. There were probably serial killers in the woods. Hunters of human flesh. Alphas ready to take things that weren’t theirs. To bite what wasn’t theirs to bite.

“Hello?” I called again, the deep timber of my voice glancing off tree trunks. I waited.

Each breath forced its way through my trembling lungs. My pulse thrummed.

“Hello.” Again. The voice wrapped around me, louder this time, sweeter. A quiet purr that sounded too close to flirting to make me anything but terrified.

Stupid omega.

Something I’d been called more times than I could count.

Stupid omega.

Stupid omega.

Stupid omega.

“Are you lost, omega?” The voice was clearer this time, an accent lilting through words that tasted like tart berries bursting on my tongue. The base of my skull tingled, the mating gland on my neck throbbed. That voice was…it was—

It was.

“I’m not lost.” The words choked their way out of my throat, catching on the breeze as I moved—stiffer than I would have liked—trying to spot who was talking to me. I didn’t see anyone, though. Only graves. Only leaves. Only the gaping hollow beneath the barren cobblestone bridge.

“You are cold,” the voice observed.

I still couldn’t see anyone.

Fear made my pulse sluggish, my knees weak.

That voice though—

It rumbled up inside me, causing an avalanche of emotion. My thighs trembled as my cock gave a feeble twitch despite the cold. Heat, unlike anything I’d felt before, began simmering under the surface of my skin. Bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

I had become so used to the dull numbness of the suppressants and scent-blockers I took, that the influx of new sensation nearly blinded me.

“Creatures as pretty as you should not be bare.” The voice caressed the shell of my ear, tickling its way inside me till my insides burst with light and the cold shriveled away, almost like magic.

I’d never been called pretty before.

Burly, sure.

Hot.

Dumb.

Useless.

But pretty? No.

I glanced around again, still searching for the owner of the voice, but instead, all I found was a low throaty chuckle that made my toes curl and my lashes flutter. Slick. I was slick. I could feel the way it dripped down my thighs, my ass cheeks rubbing, my breath coming in panicked little bursts.

Was the fear breaking through my suppressants?

I’d never had fear as an arousal trigger before.