Page 91 of Savage Blood
“Oh, I believe you might fall in love with him, but you will never be rid of me.” His nostrils flared, his breath quickening. “I would rather watch you with another man than watch you die.”
My head fell to his chest as I choked back a sob. Why couldn’t the universe just let us be together? Even when we hated each other, we still wanted each other. And now that we loved each other, Fate wanted to tear us apart.
But if Fane was right, nothing could really break us.
“Of course, if Saint heals you, I could always kill him,” Fane said. “Problem solved.”
I jerked back and peered into his face, the blood draining from mine. He was dead serious.
“Putting him through this is wrong, Fane. And you can’t kill him.”
He scoffed. “Saint knows exactly what he’s doing. He jumped at the chance because he thinks he can win you over. Maybe he can, but the idiot doesn’t realize I’ll still be there.”
Before I could argue, Fane’s hand tangled in the hair at my nape, and he tilted my head back as his mouth slowly descended on mine.
Just as our lips brushed in the softest of kisses, his art studio tilted, and shadows swallowed the room.
I groaned as another vision descended over me…
When I blinked,I stood not in Fane’s art studio but in a lavish hallway of ebony floors, so shiny they reflected everything like a blurred mirror. Silver sconces ran down the walls, their lights casting an ominous glow throughout the long corridor.
“This is different.”
My head whipped around, and Fane stood behind me, searching the opulent decor. He’d seen my visions before because of our mental link, but I’d never brought him into one.
A scream burst through the atmosphere, and a sinking feeling hit my gut. I knew that scream.
I grabbed Fane’s hand and pulled him toward the shout, running right through a closed door. The bedroom in Karn’s manor Roman had locked me in materialized, shades of slick black and gray surrounding us.
All the moisture evaporated from my mouth, and a chill raked over my spine as Barric, brandishing a hot iron poker hehad pulled from the roaring fire in the hearth, loomed over a bloody, bruised, and bound Hawk.
My stomach lurched. Sweat, blood, and fear thickened the air.
“Go to hell, Barric.” Hawk laughed even while he struggled in the chains binding him to the wooden chair. “Tate is going to kill you one day, and I’ll be there to cheer her on.”
Barric jabbed the poker into Hawk’s bicep, and the raven let out another soul-crushing wail of pain.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Hawk’s screamripped my already damaged heart to pieces, and the agony on his sweaty, bruised face stabbed into my abdomen like a dull knife. Barric’s cruel laughter thundered in my ears.
Unable to bear it, I broke out of Fane’s grip and ran toward my friend, but when I tried to snatch the poker from Barric, my hand slipped through the hot metal as if I were a ghost.
In a way, I was, forced to watch the horrifying spectacle.
“Roxie is supposed to keep him safe.” My nostrils flared as my fists clenched, and I imagined driving them into her and Barric.
Fane crossed the rich hardwoods and stood next to me, deep lines developing across his brow as the firelight reflected orange in his irises. His guilt for Hawk’s suffering pulsed from him before he could hide it.
“There’s only so much Roxie can do,” he said. “Barric knows he can’t kill Hawk.”
Not yet, anyway. Not until he had me for the ritual that would end the lives of all bitten shifters.
Barric finally took the poker away and set it on a metal cart he—or probably Ben—had wheeled in, a few other torture instruments lying on a clean white cloth. He tapped his fingers together, obviously deciding which painful weapon to use next.
Sweat glided down my nape while I studied the thin pole, no bigger than a knitting needle, with tiny spikes on the end.
