Chapter Seven
The Collar
Briana
The first horn breaks through Knox’s skin.
For one terrible second, no one moves.
Not Ari.Not Malichai.Not Aldron, with his ancient-vampire calm.Not Cruz, who usually has a smart remark ready for everything, including death.Not even me.
Especially not me.
I stare at Knox’s forehead, at the dark curve pushing through flesh like rage made bone.Blood beads along the base of it, sliding down his temple in a thin red line.His shoulders hunch, muscles swelling beneath his shirt, and the sound that comes from his chest is not a growl anymore.
It’s something older.Something that remembers labyrinths, sacrifices, and monsters worshipped in fear.
The silver collar sits open in the black velvet box.
The sight of it steals every ounce of air from my lungs.Not because I imagine wearing it.Because I remember wearing something close enough.Not silver.Not pretty.Not polished for effect.The one they used on me was black leather with tiny silver hooks hidden along the inside.It didn’t look like much at first.That was part of the cruelty.It looked almost harmless until they buckled it around my neck, and the hooks bit when I moved too quickly.
Be still, pretty thing.A woman’s voice.
My hand goes to my throat before I can stop it, and Knox tracks the movement.His eyes go completely black, and the second horn tears through.
Aldron moves first.“Everyone back.”
No one argues.Chairs scrape.Glass rattles behind the bar.The lights flicker once, twice, then settle into a low golden hum that makes everything look unreal.
Knox takes one step toward the box, and the floor creaks beneath his weight.
“Brother,” Cruz says.
Knox doesn’t hear him.Or maybe he does and doesn’t care.
The thing standing in front of me is still Knox.I know that.I feel it in the ache behind my ribs, in the way his body stays angled between me and the silver collar, in the fact that even as his beast rises, he doesn’t reach for me.
But he is also not only Knox.
His horns curve upward from his skull, dark and sharp, gleaming with fresh blood.His face has changed, not fully, not into something else, but enough.Harsher bones.Wider shoulders.Bigger hands.The air around him presses against my skin until breathing becomes work.
A monster.A very fucking real one.
Not hidden under a human smile.Not pretending to be gentle while planning harm.Not civilized cruelty in expensive clothes.A monster who is losing himself because someone sent me a collar.
My fear tangles with something worse.Something warm.Something that has no business existing in the same room as that box.
“Knox,” I say, and his head jerks toward me.
