Gods & Monsters (Serpent & Dove #3) by Shelby Mahurin

“I still don’t care.”

“And I still don’t believe you.” When I didn’t look at her, she straightened, and my treacherous eyes followed the movement. She planted her hands on her hips. “We’re going to trick Auguste,” she continued, determined to tell me whether or not I wanted to hear, “by pretending Jean Luc has arrested us.”

Abruptly, my attention sharpened on her face. On her words. “We’re going to turn ourselves in?”

“Pretend to turn ourselves in.” Her brows flattened at whatever she saw in my expression. “We’re just pretending, Chass. After we free your mother, we too will be getting the hell out of there. Coco will round up Claud and Blaise and hopefully even Angelica, and we’ll meet them all at Léviathan.”

Claud and Blaise and Angelica. Gods and werewolves and witches and mermaids.

I shook my head.

“Stop it.” Lou snapped her fingers to reclaim my attention. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I know what you’re thinking—I can see it all over your stupid face—and the answer is no.”

I scowled at her finger. “Yeah? What am I thinking?”

“You want to ruin this brilliant plan of mine—”

“It is a brilliant plan.”

The praise should’ve placated her. Instead, it stoked her ire. She jabbed her finger in my chest. “No. No, no, no. I knew you would try this martyrdom bullshit, as if you rotting in prison or burning at the stake will somehow solve everything. Let me clue you in, Chass—it won’t. It won’t solve anything at all. In fact, it’ll complicate an already complex situation because on top of saving your mother and battling Morgane—and La Voisin, Nicholina, and a whole slew of other fucking unpleasantness—I’ll also have to rescue you.”

My skin flamed hotter at her profanity. At her mouth. “Language,” I snarled.

She ignored me, prodding my chest again. Harder this time. “I know you’re experiencing some big feelings right now, but you aren’t going to do anything stupid with them. Do you understand? You aren’t going to prison because you love your mother. You aren’t going to die because you want to fuck a witch. Get—over—your—self.”

Each pause she enunciated with a poke.

My blood nearly boiled now. Ears ringing, I shoved past her toward the door. If she insisted on staying belowdecks, I would return above. I could endure the others, but she—she spoke to me as if I were a child. An errant, petulant child in need of scolding. Of discipline. It was too much. Wheeling to face her at the last moment, I snapped, “What I do or don’t do is none of your concern.” A brief pause. “And I don’t want to fuck a witch.”

“No?” Like lightning, she closed the small distance between us. In her eyes, anger glinted brutal and bright and beautiful. And something else—something like resolve. When her chest brushed my stomach, my muscles contracted near violently. “What do you want, then?” She leaned closer still, her face tipping toward mine. A hard edge crept into her voice. “Make up your mind. You can’t string me along forever, blowing hot one minute and cold the next. Do you want to love me, or do you want to kill me?”

I stared down at her, heat creeping up my neck. Flushing my cheeks.

“It’s a fine line, isn’t it?” Rising to her tiptoes now, she practically whispered the words against my lips. “Or . . . perhaps you don’t want either. Perhaps you want to worship me instead. Is that it, Chass? Do you want to worship my body like you used to?”

I couldn’t move.

“I can show you how if you’ve forgotten,” she breathed. “I remember how to worship you.”

Red swept across my vision at the image. Whether rage or lust or sheer madness, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I was damned either way. My hands seized her shoulders, her jaw, her hair, and my lips crashed against hers. She responded instantaneously. Flinging her arms around my neck, she surged upward. I caught her leg as she did, hoisting her higher, wrapping her body around mine. My back collided with the door. We rolled. I couldn’t slow my hips, my tongue. Pressure built at the base of my spine as I ground into her. As she tore away on a ragged breath. As she clenched her eyes shut and threaded her fingers through my hair.

I didn’t stop.

My knee slid between her legs, pinning her against the door. I caught her hands above her head. Trapped them there. Worshiped her neck with my tongue. And her collarbone—her fucking collarbone. I bit it gently, relishing how her body responded beneath me. I’d known it would. I didn’t know how, but I’d known she’d make that exact sound. Like my body knew hers in a way my mind didn’t. Oh, and it knew her. It knew her intimately.

I can show you how if you’ve forgotten. I remember how to worship you.

The words incited me to a fever pitch. Instinct guided me, and I tasted her throat, her shoulder, her ear. I couldn’t touch enough of her. The wood groaned beneath my knee, the skin there already chafed and abraded from the pressure, the friction. Instinctively, I transferred her wrists to one hand, using the other to yank her closer, away from the door. I trailed that hand down her back, soothing it, as she rolled her hips along my thigh. Along the hard ridge there.

“Is this how I did it?” I traced her collarbone with my nose, near delirious at the scent of her. My own hips bucked involuntarily. The pressure built. Though a voice at the back of my mind warned me to go no further, I ignored it. We would burn for our sins, the two of us, here and now. I tugged at the laces of her pants. The laces of mine. “Is this how I worshiped you?”