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Carter trailed a finger through the red liquid on Nick’s bloody back and brought it to his lips. Tasted. Nick fought to remain conscious. Knew he’d have to fight to survive what was still to come.
“Delicious blood. Born shifters taste so exquisite, not even the finest red wine can compare to the full-bodied richness.”
“Get off me, you freak,” Nick hissed, yanking against his bonds.
“Don’t be so dramatic. After all, you’re going to love the next part.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Remember what I said before? Your mate loved what I did to her. . . .” Darrow moved close, into his captive’s back. Ran a palm down his shoulder and side, rested his chin at the crook of his prey’s neck as a lover might do.
“No,” Nick whispered. “Don’t.”
“Oh, yes. I’m going to feed from you, wolf. And you’re going to love every moment of it . . . right until you breathe your last.”
“You twisted motherfucker—”
Nick’s words were cut off as Darrow struck, sliding his fangs into the curve of his captive’s neck. He cried out, his body tense . . . and then he relaxed, letting out a hoarse moan. At last, he was defeated. Broken.
With a dark laugh, Darrow pulled their bodies together tightly, Nick’s back to his front, and began to feed slowly. With long pulls and the occasional lick, nuzzling his prey’s neck, then repeating. His captive sank further under the wicked spell, unable to stop what was happening. Past caring.
Seduced.
“You’re mine now,” Darrow murmured against his skin. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“What do you want, wolf?”
“Drink from me. Take it all.”
“Patience. I’ll do as you wish. After we’ve enjoyed this fully.”
Nick jolted from the nightmare, heart thumping in his chest, slick with sweat. No, not a nightmare—the memory of what Darrow had done to him. Day and night, the horror never left him. The shame.
The shame most of all, because he’d given in. His worst enemy had seduced his body, fucked up his mind. Even though he could still see Calla’s stricken face at the waterfall days ago, even though he wanted to make it right, this was the reason he couldn’t.
He didn’t know how to get past this.
After taking a few deep breaths, he settled in again and tried to sleep. It was a long time coming, but eventually he slid back into dreams.
The mountain fortress trembled with the onslaught.
Acrid smoke clogged his lungs and his nose. Fire surged to the ceiling, consuming everything it touched with its greedy fingers. All around him, death and destruction rained down, claiming his men. His friends and allies.
Calla? Where was she?
“Calla!” he yelled. “Calla!”
If she’d fallen, too—
“Noo.”
Nick came awake again, and sat on the side of the bed. Running both hands through his sweat-soaked hair, he blew out a tired breath and tried to make sense of the vision. Or was it simply a nightmare?
Usually, he could tell the difference. But not this time. That was probably because even though he was a PreCog, his gift didn’t extend to being able to see his own future—only that of those around him.
