No one could say who moved first.
One moment, the air was tight between them, and the next, Fang's hand was in her hair, the other braced against the small of her back, yanking her closer. His mouth crashed against hers with a ferocity that stole her breath.
Rev's fingers tightened on the machete's hilt for half a second before letting go, her hand sliding up to his chest instead. His kiss was rough, fierce like he was trying to claim something he'd lost and for a heartbeat, she hated herself for kissing him back just as hard.
The heat between them roared to life, drowning out the faint sounds of laughter and chatter coming from downstairs. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she could feel the solid weight of his chest and the dangerous ammo underneath it all, a reminder of exactly who he was. Exactly why she shouldn't be doing this.
He angled his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers fisting in her hair like he had no intention of letting her go. She made a sound, half frustration, half need and pushed against him, but he only broke the kiss enough to breathe against her lips.
"Still hate me, kitten?" he murmured.
Her breath came fast, her eyes locked on his. "More than ever."
And yet, her hand stayed right where it was, pressed to the hard line of his chest like moving it would admit something she wasn't ready to say.
They stared at each other, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.
"Why are you doing this? You don't even like me."
Her hand fisted in his shirt, pressing against his chest.
Push him away.
Don't trust him.
Those were the warnings pounding in her head. Revelation had always listened to her instincts—and right now, they were going haywire. She knew she was in the presence of danger, and she couldn't afford distraction. It would ruin everything she had planned.
But she didn't listen.
She didn't move.
Normally, she would've killed him without a second thought and hidden the body where no one would find it. But she hesitated—and that hesitation was the real danger.
"I don't have to like you to want to fuck you," Fang murmured. His hand slid from her waist to the hem of her gown, his fingers tracing her thigh, slow and deliberate. When the rough pad of his fingertips grazed bare skin, a shiver shot through her and her eyes fluttered closed.
Fang looked down at her, desire coiling hot and sharp in his gut—stronger than he'd ever felt for anyone. Yes, he wanted her body, but that wasn't all. He wanted to know her. To get inside her head. He already knew she wanted Knight dead, but even with that knowledge, he still wanted to be near her.
And that was dangerous.
If Knight found out, Fang was a dead man.
But he didn't care.
"Don't lie. I know you like me," she said.
His hand inched higher, brushing over her pussy through the thin barrier of her panties.
Her breath hitched. She forced her eyes open, refusing to let him see her fold.
"Careful," she murmured, her voice low but unsteady. "You're in over your head."
His mouth curved—not quite a smile, more like the edge of a blade.
"Kitten… I live underwater."
The fabric of her gown bunched against his knuckles as he kept moving with maddening slowness, as if he owned the right to touch her. She wanted to snarl at him just as much as she wanted to—
No.
She tightened her grip on his chest. His heartbeat was steady—maddeningly steady—while hers pounded like a war drum.
"You think I won't put a knife in your throat?" she whispered.
"I think you won't. Not yet."
The words slid into her like a hook. His thumb brushed the crease of her thigh, lazy, taunting. He leaned so close his lips grazed her ear.
"You'd have done it already if you could."
Her jaw clenched. Every muscle screamed for her to shove him away. But when he pressed a little firmer, heat curled low in her belly, and she didn't move.
A soft sound escaped her—a quiet moan she instantly regretted. Her cheeks flamed. She'd been sex-deprived for months, and right now, she felt like a live wire.
"I haven't even gotten in yet and you're moaning like some French whore," he teased.
Her eyes snapped wide. French whore? Really?
Narrowing her gaze, she shot back, "Call me that again, and the only thing your mouth will be used for is begging."
His smirk deepened—trouble in its purest form.
"Kitten… that's the problem. I like begging."
Before she could answer, his grip shifted—one strong hand sliding under her thigh, the other cupping the curve of her ass. She gasped as he hauled her clean off the ground, her legs locking around his waist.
"Damon…what the hell…"
His mouth brushed her ear, voice dropping to something dark and indecent.
"Gonna pin you somewhere I can hear every sound you make when I get my hands on you properly."
The words sank low in her stomach, hot and dangerous.
She twisted, half intending to shove him away, but the motion only pressed her harder against him. The sharp inhale she gave away made his grin turn feral.
Two steps. Three. Her back caught a doorway, then suddenly they were inside somewhere dim and warmer. Before she could figure out where, her back hit something soft. A bed.
"You don't even know whose room this is," she hissed.
"Don't care," he said, bracing over her. His mouth crashed against hers.
The kiss was all teeth and heat, his tongue sliding against hers like he meant to strip her bare. She clawed at his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer—hating that she didn't know which urge was winning.
Minutes blurred. Her hand dragged over his chest, pushing off his shirt, while his roamed over her—waist, breasts, anywhere he could touch.
"Fuck," she breathed, dizzy with heat. She reached for his neck, but the moment her fingers brushed him, a wave of dizziness crashed through her. She shook her head, trying to clear it, gripping him for balance.
Fang's eyes locked on hers. Another dizzy spell hit, harder this time.
What…?
Something was wrong.
He leaned in, kissed her softly, too softly and when he pulled back, she collapsed flat against the bed. Realization slammed into her.
He had poisoned her.
Shit.
Her body refused to move. She could only stare as he stood there, handsome, dangerous, and entirely in control. A strange taste lingered on her lips, and then it clicked.
That kiss.
Fang reached into his pocket and pulled out a small dark vial. Uncapping it, he tipped the last drop onto his tongue like it was nothing, smirking.
"Had to make sure I got enough," he said casually, as if this wasn't mid-poisoning. "Didn't want you spitting it back at me."
Her stomach turned.
"You fed it to me, through the kiss."
He only smirked. "Sleep, kitten. You'll thank me when you wake up."
Darkness crept in at the edges of her vision. The last thing she saw was him turning away, walking out without a backward glance.