Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters Book 3)

It happens so fast, I don’t even have time to scream.

I whirl around and run. I haven’t gone five steps when I’m knocked off my feet by a powerful blow to my back. I land flat on my face in the snow, the wind knocked out of me. I scramble to my knees, heart thudding, but get knocked down again, this time from the side.

I roll over several times. The sky and earth fly by like I’m on a merry-go-round. When I stop, I’m lying on my back, panting and disoriented. My glasses have fallen off, so I can’t see much.

I struggle to rise, not knowing where the bear is or even if it’s still tracking me, but then I hear a terrifying snarl and smell wet fur and realize the thing is almost right on top of me.

With a slight turn of my head, it comes into view.

Black nose and beady eyes, sharp canines dripping with saliva. It’s so close, all I can see is the head.

The bear snaps its jaws at my face.

Then it’s on me.

At the same time I scream, crushing weight descends on my chest. The sun is blocked out. There’s fur in my mouth and the overpowering smell of animal in my nose, suffocating me.

I endure a split second of remorse that I’ll never see Mal’s face again. I’m going to die without ever again seeing those beautiful eyes, and the knowledge is agony.

But then there’s a deafening roar. Something warm and wet splatters over my face.

And I’m dragged out from under the motionless bear by my arm.

Mal drops his shotgun, falls to his knees on the ground beside me, and starts ripping at my clothing.

“Where are you hurt?” he shouts, clawing at my shirt with shaking hands. “Riley! Talk to me! Where are you hurt, baby?”

I’ve never seen him like this. His eyes are wild. His face is white. He looks completely unhinged. Like a totally different person.

A terrified person.

Not at all like a man who thinks I’m nothing to him but a means to an end.

When I’m unresponsive, purely from shock, Mal picks me up in his arms and runs back to the cabin. He kicks open the front door. He drops to his knees in the living room, lays me on my back on the rug in front of the fireplace, and starts pulling at my clothing again, desperately trying to find where the bear mauled me.

“Riley, baby, oh god, oh fuck.”

He’s panting in panic. Groaning between breaths. His hands move so fast to find my injuries, they’re a blur.

The feeling is coming back into my stunned body. My head starts to clear, and I realize the blood on my shirt isn’t mine. Aside from an aching shoulder and not being able to draw a full breath, I haven’t been harmed.

Because he was there.

Because, once again, Mal saved my life.

I reach up and touch his face.

He freezes, staring down at me. Breathing hard, his eyes frenzied, he looks at me like he can never look away.

My voice is faint but surprisingly calm. “I’m not hurt. I’m okay, Mal. I’m okay.”

So distraught he can’t speak, he simply stares at me, his chest heaving.

What I see in his eyes lights my soul on fire.

Emotion rushes at me, lightning and thunder and starlight, a crash of adrenaline roaring in my ears like the sea. I ache with it, splitting at the seams, unraveling under its power.

I sit up, take his face in my hands, and kiss him.

He hesitates. He fights himself for a split second, accustomed to not giving in. Then a small moan slips past his lips, and he surrenders.

He crushes me against his chest, buries a hand in my hair, and takes my mouth like he’s been starving for it since the day he met me.

I’m pretty sure that’s because he has.

The kiss is the most passionate and all-consuming I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if floodgates have opened wide. Like a dam has broken. He puts his whole body into it, wrapping around me and holding me painfully tight, his hands shaking, his breathing harsh. He makes desperate sounds into my mouth as he ravages it, groans of pleasure and sweet, longed-for relief.

Then he’s cradling my head in his hands and kissing me desperately all over my face as I laugh breathlessly, staggered by the force of his emotion.

That wasn’t just a kiss.

It was an opened door into his soul.

“Say it again,” he demands. “Tell me again, baby. Tell me.”

“I’m okay. I’m not hurt. I’m right here, and I’m okay.”

He falls on top of me, pressing me back against the floor and our bodies together, and kisses me again. I sink my hands into his hair and close my eyes, dizzy from his taste and how savagely my heart is pounding.

He kisses my jaw, my cheek, my neck, speaking in Russian as his lips move over my skin. Words pour out of him and onto me, baptizing me with fire.

I wrap my legs around his waist and find him hard, like I knew he would be. I grind against his erection, letting him know exactly what I want.

“You’re still healing,” he rasps, breaking away to gaze down at me with fevered eyes. “The gunshot wound. We can’t—”

The words die in his mouth when I pull my shirt over my head and fling it away.

I’m not wearing anything underneath it. His gaze on my bare breasts is as devouring as his kisses.

Breathing hard and staring up into his eyes, I whisper, “We can. We are. Right now.”

There’s no hesitation this time. He’s pure heat, speed, and physical force, a bull smashing through the starting gate.

He rises to his knees, yanks off my shoes, sweats, and panties, rips open the fly of his jeans so his hard cock springs out into his hand, then falls between my spread thighs and shoves it deep inside me.

I arch and gasp, clutching his shoulders.

He’s huge, hot, and invading, sinking all the way in with a single thrust. He covers my mouth with his, swallowing my moan of pleasure, then fucks me hard and ravenously, one hand gripping my ass, the other fisted in my hair.

He’s still completely clothed.

I’m naked and delirious beneath him.

I’ve never been so naked in my life.

He breaks away from my mouth to kiss my breasts. His hot, wet mouth is heaven on my rigid nipples. The tickle of his beard raises goosebumps on my skin. He sucks hard on a nipple, then nips at it with his teeth, making me gasp again. My fingers twist in his hair.

He rises to an elbow and grips my throat. Staring deep into my eyes, he fucks me until I’m writhing and moaning his name.

“Malyutka. My little bird. My sweet angel. What have you done to me?”

His voice is raw, choked with emotion. His eyes are filled with anguish.

I climax with his hand around my throat, cutting off a scream.

He drops his head and hides his face in my neck. Shuddering, he fucks me straight through my orgasm. Then the motion of his hips falters. He releases a guttural moan.

With one final, forceful thrust, he comes inside me.