Rory
There were a couple of reasons why my vocal cords chose to involuntarily combust.
First, the body was undeniably male. Sinfully, outrageously male in the way men were no longer made.
Second, the face of the male looked exactly like the dead Alpha Darren.
Having been the one in whose arms Alpha Darren had died, I could, without a doubt, say I was either staring at a ghost, or someone unhinged enough had taken the Alpha's body before it could be burned and hidden it in a cave in the Dark Reach, which was insane on so many levels.
However, the more I stared in shock, the more I noticed other things.
He was dressed like the hero in a medieval movie. A red tunic stretched over a well toned chest and thick muscles. A sword belt decorated with daggers hung low on his trim waist. There was even a sword resting against his chest. He had on black britches tucked into matching knee high boots that would look spectacular on a horse rider.
The front of his tunic was ripped and there were strange symbols etched over his chest in what looked like dried, crusted blood. The same symbol was on his forehead.
His hair was extraordinary. Lust, raven black, and grown so long, it was tickling his waist.
That startled me because Alpha Darren never kept his hair long. In fact, it was a running joke that he looked mean because he always favored a buzz cut.
This version of Alpha Darren also had a cleft in his chin that the dead one never possessed. He had kohl painted around thick, long lashes, that had no business looking that good on a dead body. His skin was golden, like he spent a lot of time under the sun, which was also unlike Alpha Darren whose complexion was pallid.
The closer I looked, the more differences I noticed. The proportions were off. Alpha Darren was huge, but he wasn't this… big. He didn't even properly fit into the coffin. Legs too long, shoulders too broad. Even laying there, I could tell he was no less than six foot seven inches tall.
Which was very frightening.
And maybe I was going into shock, but I had never found Alpha Darren hot. Yes, he was handsome. All the women fell over themselves for him, but I'd only ever thought him to be good looking.
This version, however, I would sell both my kidneys for a tumble with.
The thought horrified me. I was ogling a dead body. Oh gods.
I shook my head. I came for the cloak. I had to get it and leave. This was way beyond my capacity for the weird shit that had happened to me in one day.
Unclasping the cloak, however, proved impossible, and after thirty seconds of fumbling, I simply climbed onto the coffin to get a proper angle.
Which was how my bloodied palm ended up flat against the bare skin of his gold-dusted chest.
What happened next happened faster than my brain could process.
The cave lurched. A sudden violent surge of pressure from beneath the floor that tipped me forward before I could catch myself. My body slammed into his. My lips met his mouth. My surprised exhale slipped between his lips in the half-second before I could pull back.
And then his skin ignited.
Light, warm and blinding, erupted from him in a wave that threw me backward. I hit the cave floor and scrambled until my back found the wall, shielding my eyes as the light pulsed brighter and brighter.
Then it stopped.
I lowered my arm and screamed again.
Silver eyes, pale as winter light, fixed directly on me. The dead man was alive, towering over me with a livid expression that ran a deadly chill down my spine. He had the sharp edge of his sword pointed at my neck, drawing blood.
"What have you done to me, witch?"
His voice was rough and raspy, like it hadn't been used in a long time, but the low timbre of it went all the way to my toes, curling them. Even his voice felt like sex.
"I am not a witch–"
"You have her eyes," he snarled and my heart jumped at the viciousness. He stepped closer and I pressed flat against the cave wall as the sword edge dug deeper into my neck. Up close, I could see the destructive fury burning in his eyes. "You must be one of her apprentices. Did you help her prepare the poison?"
Poison? Was he really Darren? Was he accusing me of poisoning him? "That was Asher–"
"Asher?" he asked, cocking his head left.
"Asher Kane? Your brother?"
The man's lips tightened and his nostrils flared dangerously. "I have no brother, and the only Kane I know is a scourge on the earth that I plan to kill in the war on the morrow." He tipped the edge of the blade under my chin. "Where is Maren? Answer me or I will cut you."
"I don't know this Maren you speak of!" I yelled, exhausted, frustrated and close to tears.
"What day is it?" he snarled.
I blinked. "Uh…the 2nd… of December?"
He seemed to relax upon hearing that.
Then his eyes lowered.
To my dress, where it was bunched so high up my thighs, my thighs were on display. His expression shifted. The sword lowered from my chin and the mad man cocked his head to the left.
Then he moved so fast, I shrieked as he grabbed a fistful of my hair, tipped my head sideways and buried his in my neck.
I went completely rigid.
"What are you–"
"Silence, woman."
He breathed me in, slow and deep, and his body tensed against mine, a growl vibrating violently in his chest. Somehow, in a span of seconds, he went from very threatening to very threatening and hard, which was, in several ways, worse.
"So Maren sent me a gift after all," he purred. "She has outdone herself this time, I'll give her that."