Page 184 of Harley & Her Ferals

He closes his eyes like he’s a sacrifice.

I run my fingers to the base of River’s neck. He shivers in pleasure. I tighten my hold and tug him into a kiss.

He opens to me as beautifully as a flower.

I take his sweet nectar, tasting everything that he’s offering.

He whines, and I kiss him more deeply.

I love you, I tell him with my kiss,I love you, love you…

At last, I pull back.

River’s blue eyes are glassy.

Still in a daze, he spins the bottle.

The bottle has barely stopped rocking, as it rests on Feral, before Feral dives on top of River.

Feral drags River onto his lap, kissing him like he’s both conquering and claiming him.

River submits as beautifully as he did to me.

There’s something more in Feral’s desperation, however, a sadness that I can feel washing through the bond.

Then Feral reaches for both Laurent and me. He drags us closer and then alternates kissing us.

He’s tender, rather than rough.

It feels like he’s saying something with each desperate but loving press of his lips.

Devastation slams through me.

Why do I get the feeling that this is Feral saying goodbye?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Pits of Hell, The Alpha Underworld

“The trick is to imagine that we’re not the ones in the cage: the rest of the world on the other side of the bars are.” Laurent lounges in the giant birdcage, which is swinging from the ceiling of the Pits of Hell.

This time, I’ve been trapped inside alongside Laurent.

Whereas Laurent looks like a fashion model, with his waist length hair dramatically styled over his rose embroidered suit, as if being lit by silver spotlights for the entertainment of Alphas is nothing to him, I’m struggling not to tumble forward onto my face.

I had a dress delivered this afternoon to match Laurent’s suit. It is gray silk, which is as cool as his eyes, with cloth roses climbing over the shoulders.

Unfortunately, I’m not used to wearing dresses anymore. I’m even more unused to being on display in a situation where I’m not fighting.

How has Laurent spent so many years posing like this?As if he’s an object?

No wonder he’s developed a mask.

“Also,” Laurent shoots me a secretly sharp smile, “that the mafia knotheads, along with the corrupt politicians and elites in the audience, whose knots are getting hard at the thought of people dying for sport…are actually the ones locked in the cages for the death matches.”

Laurent, my Sweet Thorn.

“I thought that you got over stage fright by pretending that people were naked.” I snuggle as close to Laurent as I can.

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