Free Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2) by Ingrid Seymour Page A

smell and taste had tunneled—his entire being a compass set on a single course to the happiest night of his life.
    Greg deepened his kiss, sensing Sam’s acceptance like never before. Always he had felt an invisible hand pushing him away as soon as things started to heat up between them. Always she had turned her face away, had pressed a rigid hand against his chest, had made him feel unworthy and miserable.
    But not now.
    No. What he sensed now was completely different, so inviting, that it took all his willpower to keep a civilized pace. Not that she was making it easy with her curious hands dancing across his torso, becoming more daring by the minute, igniting his blood and tripling his desire.
    Breathless, he pressed his cheek to her neck and felt her pulse pounding wildly. He trailed a path of kisses down to her clavicle, disbelieving this closeness, this shared single-mindedness and purpose.
    They were one. Finally.
    So sweet. So beautiful and delicious.
    Greg lay a hand to Sam’s stomach, in the gap between her cropped top and sexy-as-hell mini-skirt. Her skin was feverish and pushed fiercely against his touch as she arched her back. His fingers dipped lower, reaching the point of no return. Heaven just a few minutes away.
    Then his heart slammed to a stop, cutting his next breath short and freezing his searing blood in a split second.
    What the hell?
    He shuddered at the cold stab of fear in the back of his neck, and before he realized he’d made the decision, he was on his feet, heart beating, brimming with a different kind of wildness.
    No. No. No.
    Sam shrank, embarrassed. “What is it? Did I do something wrong?”
    He shook his head, glanced toward the window, then the door. Sam sat up, a million emotions playing on her face. She hugged her knees. Her eyes wavered.
    “Tell me it’s not what I’m thinking,” she begged.
    Greg picked up his t-shirt and, before he slipped it on, his instincts cleared and flashed a warning in front of his eyes—a message that, in the depths of his blind desire for Sam, he had failed to see. She was in danger. Someone was near and their intentions were not good.
    Stupid, stupid and careless.
    “We have to get back to my apartment. This place isn’t safe anymore,” he said.
    A tear slid down Sam’s cheek.
    Greg’s insides twisted at the sight of her fear and pain. They’d always known this day would come. Still, that didn’t mean they would ever be ready to leave everything behind. Yet, the time was here.

Chapter 10 - Ashby
    The air around Ashby crackled and shimmered as Perry Hambleton, his advising Sorcerer, uttered the transport spell. His skin tingled with invisible needle pricks. At least he hadn’t needed to drink the nasty green potion—not while wearing the transport amulet Perry had prepared and just given him. The ugly thing, a skull with red jewel eyes, could absorb and store the magic needed for any trip, even one across continents. Perry explained it was weaker than swallowing the potion, which could spread through the body for better magic absorption but, at least, it didn’t taste like rotten snot.
    He tightened his grip around it. His stomach twisted. His head swam with dizziness.
    I’m not ready for this .
    He was weak and light-headed, but really had no choice. His mother wanted him to wait, and he knew what that meant. It was a necessity to go straight away, before she could carry out whatever scheme she had brewing.
    After a loud pop sounded inside his head, Ashby knew they’d arrived. He opened his eyes and found himself outside, under the shade of a staircase. Shadows concealed their presence, though, at the moment, no one was around to see them. The apartment complex was quiet, everyone inside their units or out for the night, he supposed.
    Ashby waited for that familiar pull to show him which way to go, but there was nothing. He had no more inkling as to where he might find Sam. Pressing a hand to an adjacent wall, he steadied himself,