Shades of Gray: A Jude Magdalyn Novel by L. M. Pruitt Page A

now was one I was very, very familiar with. Sometimes, you have to let the people who only get off on hearing you scream, get off. Survival is much more important than a misplaced sense of pride.
    His fingertips running up and down my arm made the hairs there stand on end, something else he found amusing. This close, I could see his eyes were black. Not that he had a large pupil, but the iris was the dark ink of midnight. For some reason, the detail freaked me out like nothing else in our encounter had. The sudden racing of my pulse made him smile, which only served to scare me even more, if possible at this point.
    “No, Prophecy, pure evil is something so rare that those who have been touched by it are invariably changed.” His hand slid over my naked stomach, and I felt my muscles tremble. “Even Lucifer, in all his evil, was once chosen of God. And, though he was cast out of heaven, he retains the beauty and grace that placed him so near to the Almighty. The Anti-Christ, when he arrives, will share his father’s beauty and charisma - these things will draw people to him.”
    His cold hand trailed upwards, cupping my left breast. I wanted to break his hand, every bone in it, but it would have to wait a few minutes. His eyes shone with amusement as he massaged my flesh, almost like he was waiting for me to yell, cry, or beg.
    “You are remarkably self-possessed. Or maybe you prefer a little danger with your mating?” One finger dipped below the lace of the bra, flicking across my nipple, and he chuckled when it peaked in response. “I might be able to indulge you. Pity, truly, that I still have to kill you in the end.”
    “Yes, that part is truly a pity.” Slowly, cautiously, I moved one hand to brush over his face, tracing his tattoos with one finger, edging closer to his eyes. I didn’t know if I’d be able to do it, but I would damn well try, and before he got most of his clothes off. “I only ask that you move the knife out of reach, at least until we’re finished.” His eyes narrowed. I leaned forward until I could lick his lips, laving them gently, unsurprised when his body twitched. “I have a feeling it would put me off my game, if you understand what I mean.”
    Men, no matter their age or species are men, and this person sent to kill me reacted in the same way any fifty year old pot-bellied trick on the street would. He did exactly as I said, dropped the knife to the floor and kicked it away. If women would get over using sex as a weapon, they’d rule the world in one or two months, tops.
    Weapon discarded, he pushed me back onto the mattress, balancing my lower body on his knees. His body, when he pulled his shirt off, was impressively muscled and covered with more of the somehow wrong tattoos. Needing just a few more minutes, I asked, “Why so much ink?” You only need a short question to get a five-minute monologue from a man.
    Taking my hands, he did exactly as I hoped he would and ran my fingers over the various tattoos. One for Hitler - the largest, because Hitler was pure evil; a pair for the Kennedy brothers and one in a similar vein for Kennedy, Junior; a surprisingly pretty and delicate one for the Queen of Scots; another for Lincoln, which made me ask if he was responsible for all U.S. president assassinations - to which he responded, “Only the ones that succeeded.” The more he talked, the higher he drew my hands and the closer he moved to me. Only a few more inches, and I could hopefully execute my plan.
    The ones closest to his eyes were marks from his killing of Jack the Ripper and there was no mistaking how excited my exploration of his tattoos was making him. His hands dropped away from mine, moving toward his belt buckle, and I knew this was my only chance. Taking a deep breath and reminding myself that now was not the time to be a total girl, I settled my thumbs over his eyeballs and pressed hard.
    Apparently I got a boost of strength with being the Prophecy. Even though I