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He yanked me back under him, pulling my shorts down to my knees in the process. “Stop being stupid.”
“No, no.” The fever made thought difficult, basic, my body screamed it was dying,dying, dying,dying…
No, no, he isn’t my mate. No, no.
What did I do? What did I do?
I sobbed. He yanked my shorts off the rest of the way and he pushed my twitching legs apart.
What have I done? What have I done?
My body begged me to follow the scent ofmaleandsex. My fevered mind whisperedit’s too late, you’ve already gone too far, why suffer like this? He will make it stop, he will make it stop…
NO.
He bent over me again, his body cold and silver and agony andoh, please, yesagainst mine, with his cock fitted into the groove of my hip. Harshly, he whispered, “This has an easy solution. Why are you sostubborn?”
“I’m… not… yours…”
I wasn’t Sterling’s anymore either. Not for what I’d just done. I sobbed. I tried to howl, but I couldn’t stop twitching long enough.
Searle picked me up and put me on the bed. I moaned from the agony of his touch, the cool now replaced by an icy burn similar to silver. My body jerked and then again as I managed to not fling myself onto him. The bed was instantly too hot under me.
My vision blurred and swam.
I was dying. And I couldn’t die. Because that would kill Sterling…
But I’d rather die from this than betray him…
But I’d already done that.
My soul howled. My body just moaned uselessly.
Searle stood over me and came into focus slowly. He had the vial in one hand. He moved to my nightstand and laid his other hand, palm up, on the wood.
My body twitched, and I begged it to stop, to lay quietly, then we’d cool off a bit, I was so tired, so desperate for cock, so close to death…the only part of me that was wet was between my thighs.
“This is how you open it,” his voice sounded like it came through water. “This is why everyone is shown with wounds.”
He plunged the vial into his palm. Right through the hand. The vial shone bright in my fevered vision and it seemed to happen very slowly, as it sank into his palm. He howled in pain. Or was that something else?
He yanked the vial back and pressed the clasp with his thumb.
It opened. A scent like winter and water and moonlight rolled through the room.
It shoved my fever aside for my brain to think, even if my body kept up its exhausted twitching.
He turned to me.
“No,” I said. “No, Searle, no.”
He pushed his wounded hand between my breasts and pinned me to the bed. His other hand held the now-open vial. The liquid in it flashed green-blue-purple-silvery white. “This is necessary.”
“No!” I clawed at his wrist. My mind was clear because of the perfume, but my body was still weak and ravaged.
“You are mine,” he said, his amber eyes dilated, “and you don’t have to suffer and die for him. He doesn’t want this.No one wants this for you. He walked away. Heleft you to this.”
“No!” I whispered. “Please, Searle, don’t, don’t do this, I don’t want it.”
