Feral Craving by D.C. Stone Page A

own,
struggling with control, taking a moment to regain his patience. She shouldn’t
be here, shouldn’t be around him. He fought the primal urge to force himself on
her, all the while screaming silently for her to get far, far away from him and
the dark monster that lived inside. He felt it now, watching … waiting.
    "Why, Angel?” He saw her cringe at
his blunt words. “Why come down here to dredge up the past?"
    Bari stared up at the ceiling, hearing
her shift once again, her scent binding itself to him. Her breath hitched, and
Bari closed his eyes. Goddamn it, he didn’t want her here. He’d only hurt her.
    “You know damn well why I would want to
do such a thing, Bari. Have you changed so much that you aren’t the same man I
once knew? Has hatred filled your veins so much that you can’t say hello to an
old … friend?” She spat out the last word.
    He opened his eyes, looked up at her and
saw the tears threatening to fall. “Is that what we are, Mac? Friends?”
    She stared down at him, and he swallowed;
the action forced down his throat as the sheer volume of the situation hit.
Here she was, offering herself and her friendship to him once again, looking
for answers. Yet her friendship, while wonderful, wasn’t the thing he wanted.
But he wasn’t normal, yet also wasn’t strong enough to say no. He was scared
for what he’d do to her, for what he had to offer, and for what he recognized
would come.
    His hand lifted, and he brushed a stray
tendril of her hair behind her ear. As he drew his fingers through the strands,
he took note of how damn soft it was. If she was willing to communicate,
willing to open up, then he could do no other than return it. It could go no
further though. He had to make sure of it. “There’s not much to be known about
me, Angel.” He dropped his hand to his stomach before rolling his body, facing
her. Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and drew her to the side of his bed,
forcing her to sit next to him as he spoke. “You and I know when I left, we
were anything but friends.” He
searched her eyes, looked for a reaction. His hand itched to reach out, to take
her in his arms, just once, and to feel her one more time.
    ****
    Mackenzie brutally shoved down the anger
that filled her. It was a viscous, living thing—living in her for far too long.
Hurt replaced the emotion. She wanted to toss herself in his arms and yet at
the same time strangle him to death. It had been too many years, too much
grief, having too many questions that needed to be answered. Nine years of
living with the aftermath of the one night.
    She hated how this looked, hated how that
one familiar act of stroking her hair brought back a wave of memories. She had
always loved him, considered him her confidant, her best friend. Even when he
had left without a word, her affection for him never did. She loathed her
reaction to him. Hated how even after all these years, he could still make her
crumble. His looks hadn’t changed too much since the last time she had seen
him. Still holding an air of menace, he seemed to have grown into the handsome
man she knew he’d become. He had a square jaw, and stubble from a day’s growth
of hair lined his face. Held within were lips so plump and full, so tempting
and beautiful that if they hadn’t been set on such a masculine face, those lips
would have been too feminine. Instead, they added to his cruel sensuality.
    Her gaze roamed his face, taking note of
the smallest differences, scars here and there, frown lines, small changes in
the young man she had fallen in love with so long ago. His eyes still pierced
as blue as she remembered, one color she couldn’t forget because they carried
the same color as her son. And the black hair, it was all the same. She sighed
and heard a rumbling sound, glanced up to his eyes startled, as she realized
the sound came from him.
    “Mac … you shouldn’t look at me like
that…” She frowned, found herself not thinking on his words