“Te adoro deam.”

“What are you saying?” she asks, voice unsteady.

A sly smile crooks my mouth. “It’s Latin for…” I bite into the fleshy mound above her sweet pussy before I lift my gaze to hers. “I’m going to eat you all up.” Then I claim what’s mine, licking a hard seam up the slit of her slick lips.

I waste no time devouring my muse and suck her clit into the hollow of my mouth, loving the breathy exhales that escape her, the way her belly flutters uncontrollably. I wrap my forearms around her legs and clasp her inner thighs as my tongue delves into the warm center of her perfect pussy.

I savor the sweet taste of her. The feel of the raised sigil hot beneath my fingers. The way she arches her back, hands in my hair. I lavish her clit with my tongue, nip at her soft lips, my hunger stirring at the slight trace of metallic blood that still lingers.

“Break for me,” I whisper over her flesh.

The need to be deep inside her and seal the connection is a demon raking claws over my bones. Her nails tear across my scalp, the pain satisfying as I feel her lose control. I close my mouth over her and revel in her pleasure as she comes. Her orgasm rips through her body and elicits a soft cry.

I reach up and cover her mouth, a curse bit through my clenched jaw as her teeth sink into the web of my hand.

Three quick raps sound at the door, and I growl in protest.

“Oh, god…” Halen latches on to my hand, her nails digging into the back.

With strained effort, I break away and hover above her. “Next time, I won’t stop until it’s my name you scream, sweetness.”

I clamp my hands around her waist and haul her off the table, where I lower to my haunches and slide her jeans up her legs, then stand to drop a tender kiss to her lips. “Time’s up.”

Her gaze fuses to mine. “You have an alibi,” she says.

She’s not talking about the weak alibi I orchestrated the night of the ritual by leaving my ankle monitor in the hotel room.

I cock my head, realizing she’s willing to confess that we were together. “Not for the entire night,” I say.

And there in the depths of her wide, hazel eyes is the glimmer of doubt.

The knock sounds again, followed by Agent Hernandez announcing his entrance. He regards us quickly and clears his throat. “A knife was recovered in the bed of deer remains. That’s what Agent Alister is trying to keep out of the press until it’s been processed. He doesn’t want to spook the perpetrator.”

I comb my fingers through my disheveled hair from where Halen clawed her little nails.

I don’t have to say aloud what Halen and I both know.

There’s no chance the offender will be scared away. The discovery of the knife was every bit the design of the Overman.

“There’s more,” Hernandez says. “The antlers that were removed from the vic at the hunting grounds crime scene? They also turned up in the ravine.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” I say.

Halen pushes past me. “Thank you, Agent Hernandez.” Paused at the door, she glances back once. “We need to leave.”

We pass officers stationed at posts along the corridors as they keep loitering members of the press contained in one area of the building. A thick veil of silence descends as we enter the parking lot. The sky has darkened, the tranquil evening deceptively concealing the chaos that will ensue come light.

As Hernandez unlocks the SUV, Halen stops short of the vehicle. “Dammit,” she breathes. “I forgot something in the interrogation room.”

I lean down close to her ear. “I have your panties in my pocket.”

The incredulous look she sends me is cute. “My phone, Kallum. It must have fallen out of my jeans.”

I glance back at the building. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” She holds up a hand. “Just… I’ll be quicker on my own if you’re not tempted to get…sidetracked.” A pretty flush tints her cheeks. “Wait here with Agent Hernandez.”

I watch Halen walk away from me, her steps hurried, the impression of her phone outlined in her back pocket.

I spin the ring around my thumb. One…two…three times.

Three is the divine number. It’s why the Overman references this number in rituals. Three pairs of thirty-three eyes on three trees. Three symbols for the path to ascension. Three tributes to master and obtain their goal.

It’s always three.

Yet the obvious flaw in their design is the first symbol, the philosopher’s stone—the one that stands apart.

One is a conundrum. Strong in its singularity, yet vulnerable for the very same reason.

Just as my little Halen is right now.

Hernandez sidles up beside me, his arms crossed in mirrored stature. “You’re not going to listen to her, are you.”

I slide a look at the agent. “What do you think.”

OceanofPDF.com

11

OceanofPDF.com

VIOLENCE OF THE STARS

OceanofPDF.com

HALEN

The press conference is over, but the task force hasn’t yet resumed operation, as evident in the empty halls of the forensic department. The on-duty officers are posted at the opposite side of the building to handle the media, giving me a short window of time.

My footsteps echo against the cinderblock walls, sounding too loud in the stillness.

I realize what I’m about to do will answer that terrifying question: Knowing the truth about Kallum will not change how I feel.

I once accused Kallum of having no soul to sell. But the truth has always been that I’m the soulless one. When I lost my family—my parents, Jackson, our baby—my soul died with them.

The arrows on the wall guide me on a one-way course I initiated myself. Because once I do this, there’s no turning back.

Yet I don’t focus on what most other crime solvers focus on. DNA. Fibers. Fingerprints. Hard evidence that cannot be refuted in a court of law.

I find evidence in behavior.

And the behavior of the perpetrator who placed the carving knife in the ravine, in a location sacred to the Overman, says that Kallum is not the one who committed the Harbinger murder.

At least, not this one.

For once, I agree with Kallum. The antlers and the knife discovered together is the most conveniently recovered evidence I’ve ever witnessed. They might as well have been gift wrapped.

Hard, factual evidence can be misused. Can even be falsified. That is why we have to sometimes look beyond what we can touch and see as fact. We have to question the evidence itself.

What I know is that, at some point between when I placed the knife in my bag and my hotel room safe, the knife was removed. Someone had a purpose for it, and the only logical purpose is to frame either me or Kallum.

I’m giving in to his way of thinking, which is terrifying all on its own, but it’s also the only explanation. And since I have a near airtight alibi, framing Kallum to remove him from the case—from me—is the only other logical motive.

I can still feel the lingering burn of Kallum’s touch. Still taste him on my lips. I completely surrendered to him and, this time, I have no mind-altering ritual to cast blame. There’s a thread of uncertainty spun around my heart, tightening as the small voice of my conscience whispers that I’m acting on emotion and not reason.

Just as I made a conscious choice last night to delete that email, to remain in the dark about Kallum’s past, I’m tangled in his web, yearning for the venomous bite that will shut out the world and its pain.

The fight to deny how he makes me feel, the inexplicable connection we share, has been bled from my veins.

I’m no longer slipping over the edge—I’ve leapt straight into the abyss.