Page 122 of Death Game: Supernatural Battle

Heart at bursting point, I opened my mouth, but my answering words turned to a scream as his fangs sliced into my breasts, catapulting me headfirst into the deepest pleasure I’d ever known.

It shook my mind. Shook my body.

Because the pleasure came from us.

And nothing,no one, had ever meant more to me.

My true mate.

A pulling sensation on my chest gently tugged me back to the chaise in my office.

In a legless daze, I stared at Kyros lapping blood from my chest as he continued to move in and out of me. A trickle of red escaped his lips as he tensed.

A roar burst from his mouth as he shoved into me, eliciting a fresh round of aftershocks for me. Half wild, I snatched for his wrist, desperate for his blood. My breath hitched, and agrowlleft my lips as my mate pulled his arm away, slowing the pace of his thrusts.

“Now,” I demanded, the order morphing to a breathless moan as he pulled me up to straddle him.

I gasped at the fullness of him inside me with the changed position, but wasted no time rocking against him in firm circles.

His eyes were green fire as he bit into his wrist. Cupping the back of my neck, Kyros hovered his dripping wound over my mouth, waiting as I swallowed each mouthful before feeding me more.

I swallowed more and more of his sweet blood, our gazes locked, bodies connected and moving in perfect, beautiful sync.

“I love you, Kyros Atagio,” I said hoarsely. Pressing one hand to his cheek, I rested my other palm over his heart.

Our heart.

Red fell freely from his eyes.

And fire slammed into me.

20

I crawled after the morsel, licking my lips.

Hungry.

“Fuck my life,” a woman said.

I liked her. Mostly. Not when she wouldn’t give me the food.

I blinked a few times at the sandwich on the floor. Something was funny about it. Andouch, my knees hurt.

Sitting back on my haunches, I studied the petite woman with new eyes.

“Tommy?” I asked.

Her eyes widened. “Holy shit, is it over? Am I talking with Basil or Coriander?”

I shivered as fire drained from my veins, leaving me cold. I recognised the feeling this time.The thrall.

And yep, I had my memories again.

“It’s Basil,” I rasped at her.

We were in my suite. It was intact—no painted walls, no moved furniture or décor pinecones.

I frowned at the sandwich, tracing the length of nylon tied around the baguette to the stick in Tommy’s hand. “What the hell? Are you leading me around the room with a sandwich on a string?”

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