Chapter 107: Chapter Thirteen

Hope

I tried to stop shaking.

I really did.

But I was in a car with an immortal, and I was still awake as in, I wasn’t dreaming or even having a nightmare. This was real. And he’d just basically told me if I didn’t have sex with him.

I would die.

Was he lying?

Too many thoughts rushed to the surface, thoughts about elves, about Alex, about why I needed to touch him, why I wanted to touch him, why I craved him even when Mason seemed friendlier, albeit in a pet sort of a way.

It was insanity.

Because I wanted to ~run.~

My mind told me that was really the only logical choice I had.

But my body leaned toward him, wanted him, thirsted for him. And I felt like a complete fool that I had to actually concentrate on not touching him every single time I sucked in a much-needed breath.

His golden skin pulsed before my eyes.

Like legitimately pulsed, causing a shiver of awareness to wash through me as he slowly exhaled and pulled up to a stoplight only to curse and jerk the steering wheel right and take us down an alleyway before popping out on the other side and nearly running us into a semi.

I double-checked my seat belt then gripped the door handle just to keep myself from slamming into his rock-hard body.

“Immortals have road rage too.” I nodded as I talked to myself. “Good to know.”

“I need you not to do that,” he finally broke his silence with his gruff voice.

Frowning, I glanced over at his perfect face and barely kept back a whimper as it built in my throat. “Do what? Exactly?”

“Talk,” he grit his teeth. “At all.”

“Ever?”

“Now,” he said slowly and loudly, like I was hard of hearing.

I was irritated. Hot. Angry. Scared. And he’d just asked me not to talk or ask questions. “Well, can I breathe or is that against the rules too?”

“Still talking,” he slammed his hand across the steering wheel. “Absolute death wish.”

“I thought I only died if I left you or if you can’t control yourself during sex.” I really needed to snap my trap shut. His crazy purple and gold eyes hit me like a lightning bolt before he jerked his attention back to the road and shook his head. “That’s still talking.”

“I know but—

“Literally.” He whispered hoarsely. “Not figuratively. But literally…” His body pulsed faster, harder, louder, like I could hear his heart hammering inside, the blood roaring to the surface. “I will kill you if I don’t calm the hell down, and every time you speak, I taste you. Again, not figuratively, literally. So if I were you, I’d sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride, because the next time you get one, it’s going to be rough.”

I felt my cheeks heat.

He meant in a car, right?

Not… I gulped and chanced a glance out of the corner of my eye as his breathing slowed and then, of course, because I was hallucinating, I could have sworn he finally exhaled and relaxed.

All because I’d stopped talking.

Which was great for him—bad for me.

Because with every mile came the sinking feeling that I was headed toward my doom. And I hated, absolutely hated, that my body was on board with it.

That even now, I was on fire for him.

And felt like if I didn’t touch him.

I really would die.