Free Feral Craving by D.C. Stone

One hand gripped her wrists, tossing them over her head. He wouldn’t hurt
her, would give his life for her, but he felt out of his element and needed to
prove a point. His body stepped up behind hers. He tried not to groan as her
lush backside nestled against his hips. He ground his teeth together and moved
his head down to her ear.
    “Stay still, Angel.”
    What a
homecoming, Bari. What are you going to do next? Show her your baseball card
collection? Hell, he didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t understand
why in the hell he acted this way. Some primal source inside of him pushed,
enticed him to warn her or draw her to him, he didn’t know which, as if the two
halves of himself, the man and the beast, both raged for control. His mind
opened and sought hers, entering just as he had felt Tyler enter his. He only
acted on instinct, the need to connect them on a deeper level, something beyond
physical comfort.
    Mackenzie gasped and as if she spoke her
thoughts, pictures garnered in his head, rippled with intensity. He felt her
fear at his invasion, lust at his touch.
    He moaned, couldn’t help it. Bari had
tried to scare her, tried to tell her without words he was different, a threat,
but what he saw in her mind, what she had been thinking involving the two of
them, shattered the angry moment. Images poured from her, linked to him, and he
saw it all. Their night together so long ago had been so damn sweet, and he
could see now that the memories Mackenzie held of the moment made it even
sweeter. He groaned and dropped his head to her shoulder. Her hair acted as a
pillow for him and turning his face, he drank in the scent of her. Apples and
vanilla. Mac moved against him, the delicious curve of her pressing against him
in an erotic rhythm. His need hardened, his control wavered. He pressed his
face deeper in her curls, his breath on her neck. “Mac … you need to go.”
Neither of them moved. He didn’t have the strength to push her away.
    “Wh-what’s going on, Bari?” Her voice
shook.
    One hand moved from her wrists above her
head and trailed in a slow path down her arms. Her muscles jumped under his
touch. His palm roamed lower, his fingertips brushing the side of her breast.
She inhaled sharply. He couldn’t stop. As his hand reached her waist, he
wrapped his palm around the curve and pulled back, his own hips pushing forward
with the action. He stilled, opened his eyes and looked around, then jumped
back with a curse. “Fuck!” He turned, started pacing, trying like hell to bring
his boiling blood down a level. He was heated, on fire for her, and needed to
get away. He couldn’t be that guy. He wished like hell he could, but right now,
with everything going on, he couldn’t. “I need you to leave, Mac.” He swallowed
hard. “Please, just go.”
    His entire body shook, the words he
tossed at her sounding more like those of a caged animal. He would have gone so
much further, pushed her, but he realized his emotions also came from the dark
monster inside of him. He could hurt her, had seen his kind hurt before. He
wouldn’t do it. He would kill himself before he hurt Mackenzie in any way. She
turned toward him, her eyes wide with curiosity. She opened her mouth to speak
and took a step closer. He held up a hand, closed his eyes, turning his head
from the temptation of her. “Mac, I mean it. You need to go. Now…” She sighed,
the sound so full of pain. He hated that he put it there. It proved he wasn’t
worthy of her.
    His fists clenched at his sides as she
left. He reached up to scrub a hand down his face. He had no clue what the fuck
he was doing, nor did he even know if he wanted to find out. Shit had gone to
hell in a handbasket, and he could not make heads or tails of it.
    He scanned the door, studied it as if it
were calling to him. Mackenzie had walked out with an air of rejection, a harsh
reminder that he tasted the moods and emotions of others now, that he wasn’t
exactly human. He