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Until he rent flesh and muscle.
When he did that, the scream burst from her, a desperate cry. A piercing plea for Luke to come, to please come, to save her.
And as the world started to turn gray around her—as Stemmons sliced his knife into her breast, her thigh, her neck—she imagined that she saw him there, her dark warrior, her life, her love.
He would come.
He would come for her and end this nightmare.
But as the world slipped away from her, she knew the nightmare was real, and this time, she wouldn’t wake up.
* * *
Blood.
Sara’s blood.
He could smell it, could practically taste it, and the scent of it drove the serpent wild.
Lucius let it. He needed the beast now. The serpent’s speed, theAzag’srage.
Needed to use the darkness he tried so hard to keep buried to destroy the bastard who had dared to hurt his Sara. And as for Tasha…
His heart twisted with the pain of it even as he raced forward, feet pounding over the soft earth, Sara’s scent drawing him, her thoughts—incoherent, terrified, pain-filled, but alive, still alive—calling to him.
She was close. So very close.
Luke…
The tiniest of echoes, but the beast within him unfurled, fangs bared, rage boiling.
He’d traveled by land, the route swifter than the tunnels beneath the store. And now he raced toward the familiar structure. Moving swiftly. Moving silently.
And then felt the shock of seeing her like a punch in the gut when he peered through the bars at the horror that lay within.
Stemmons was there, and he stood over Sara with a blade tipped in blood. Lucius tilted his head back and drew in the scent. Tasha. But not present. Not there.
Instead, her blood was within the human.
She’d not turned him, but she’d made him strong.
Deep within Lucius, the serpent hissed.Not strong enough.Not fucking strong enough.
Sara was naked, her breath coming in stops and starts, and he could hear the shallow, weak beat of her heart. He could smell the blood that had been spilled on the stone. The life that was draining out of her.
No time, the serpent cried.No time.
With a guttural roar, Lucius ripped the door off the crypt, then tossed it aside. Stemmons turned, his eyes so wide it was almost comical, and found the beast barreling down on him.
“Die,” Lucius said, and took the blade the human wielded. Then swiftly, purposefully, Lucius drew it across the man’s own throat.
Blood gushed like a faucet, but its scent did not entice. The human was putrid. Rotten.
And only Sara mattered.
He rushed to her side, his every cell screaming out in denial and fear as he felt the life draining from her.
Back it up,he thought, trying to gather himself. He had to think, and he couldn’t do that with the primal beast raging in pain and fury within.
