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He was a mess.
His hair was damp with grease and blood, slicked away from his face.
He had two black eyes. The bruise on one was a sickly yellowish-green color, and the other was dark purple.
He was shirtless, and his torso was covered in tattered white and beige bandages. Most of which he’d already bled through.
His pants were black, and despite the dark color, obviously stiff and stained with blood.
His normally-golden skin was pale, and he was slumped over a stone bed that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
My eyes widened in horror at the sight of him.
August was on his feet in a heartbeat. The scent of his blood hit my nose, and my hand flew to my mouth as he grabbed the metal bars of his cell. I noticed thick metal cuffs on his arm and ankle, and a thin one around his throat.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” His snarl was low.
Furious.
Feral.
I didn’t know if he was talking to me, or to Jasper.
My chest tightened.
He was going to reject me.
“Get my mate out of this prison now.” His eyes were shifting.
Heating.
Burning.
It took a moment for the words to register.
Get my mate out.
My mate.
He was talking to Jasper.
About me.
Calling me his mate.
The tension in my stomach eased slightly.
The guys were right.
He was still mine.
I stepped forward, and August took a breath in.
A deep breath.
Like he wanted to fill his lungs with the scent of me.
“Fireball.” His voice was strained.
