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“I wanna wrap your throat in a collar.”
A voice, more like a growl, floated over her. Eyes flickering open in the dark, Greta stiffened and curled her fingers into claws. She was about to slam her head against the man on top of her when he spoke again, “It’s me. Cutter.”
Her body went slack, and she swiped a shaking hand over her eyelids. She hadn’t immediately recognized his voice in her barely awakened state. The breeze from the open window tapped the cord of the venetian blinds against the windowsill. Once her vision adjusted, she found him crouched over her like a rapacious beast. In the semidarkness, she peered into his indigo eyes, reveling in the luminous fever shining through. Inhaling a ragged breath, she instantly recognized Cutter’s scent. It entwined around her, swaddling
