Edge of Hunger Read Online Free PDF

air that didn't make his lungs burn, his vision swim. Squinting through his narrowed eyes, he focused on the digital glow of the clock sitting on his dresser, the blinking of the numbers making him think of a bomb slowly ticking its way to detonation.
    When the darkness calls, Ian...
    Like hell! He had enough to deal with right now! He didn't need his mother's words whispering through his brain. Not when he was on the edge and a breath away from losing what little control he could claw on to.
    He drew in a deep, desperate breath through his nose, eager for the scent of something clean and fresh, something that could pull him out of the ugliness in his head. But the smell of the room reminded him too much of the acrid taste of fear. And there was no denying that he was afraid--that terror beat through his body like a deafening, rolling wave of thunder.
    Visions of blood and lust, of violent sex and ungodly, animalistic hunger, still burned through his mind, but he fought against the waves of memory, focusing on regaining control, slowing his heart...his breathing. Struggling to keep from coming all over his sheets like some green-eared teenage boy in the throes of a wet dream.
    Goddamn it! It was her! She'd planted this in his head with her little mind games today. And he refused to think about how he'd felt with her--in her. No way. That was emotional no-man's-land.
    Seconds ticked by that flowed slowly into minutes, while he lay there, struggling for control of his body--fighting the urge to replay the dream in his head, knowing it would destroy him.
    Send him out on a shaky, treacherous ledge that only she could rescue him from. He sucked in air through his gritted teeth, heavy and hard, welcoming the dull throb beginning to pound through his head, until he suddenly became aware of someone knocking on his door. Loud and rattling, it shook the thin wood within its weathered frame like a lone reed caught in a gale-force wind.
    Rolling onto his back, Ian took quick stock of his condition. He was drenched in sweat, his body hot, muscles aching, and a wry look downward showed he was in some deep shit, and it was getting deeper by the minute.
    The knocking rattled his door again, sharp and insistent. He threw his legs over the side of his bed, running one shaky hand through his damp hair, trying to throw off the jittery feeling the dream had left in his gut. It was probably Riley, asking for help. Again. Why his brother thought he would want to run off and play Galahad with him, he had no idea. Probably Riley's attempt to keep an eye on him, making sure he still walked the straight and narrow.
    Huh. As if he wanted to go back to the way he'd been before coming to the mountains.
    Thanks, but no thanks. He was done with living on the edge. Done watching his back 24-7.
    The constant strain of fighting his way through each day had worn him down and he had no desire to ever return.
    Grabbing his jeans from the floor, Ian navigated through the dark rooms of his apartment, hoping it wasn't his brother...or Kendra. He'd left her a message earlier, just wanting to check on her, after the whacked-out stuff Molly Stratton had said that afternoon.
    "Jesus, give me a goddamn minute!" he called out when the knocking grew louder, impatient and strong. Hitching his jeans up over his hips, he closed a few buttons as he reached for the door, pulling it open.
    And there she was. Little Miss Molly.
    Holy shit. What had been a serious hard-on turned into a burning lead pipe in his jeans, curving high to his left, so that the partly closed denim only just managed to keep him from flashing her his goods.
    She still wore her jeans, but the white shirt had been replaced with a soft sage-colored T-shirt.
    Her braless nipples pressed against the thin cotton, thick and tempting, like hard little berries that he wanted to roll around on his tongue. Ian stared, unable to believe his eyes, wondering for a moment if he was still somehow trapped within the