(Adelaide & The Devil)
He stepped inside.
Adelaide’s breath fled her lungs.
The man—The Devil—stood framed in the doorway, firelight painting sharp lines across his bare chest. His dark hair was damp with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead. His jaw was clenched hard, a muscle ticking violently. His shoulders rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, the only visible sign of the storm he was barely keeping leashed beneath his skin.
His tattoo burned with a soft crimson glow, swirling like it was alive beneath his skin. His eyes—gods—his eyes locked onto her instantly. Ember-bright. Wild. Starved. They dragged over her in one searing sweep—fur, throat, the way she pressed herself back from him—cataloguing every inch as if reassuring himself she was still exactly where he’d left her
