Dark Surrender (The Dark Ones Saga 3) - Page 27

“Oh, he spoke all right.” I growled, and then because I was dehydrated, without sex, and possibly losing my mind, I took the protective stance in front of her and leaned down in challenge. “Look at her that way again, and I’ll rip your haunches from your body and feed them to the demons.”

He grinned.

And then.

She. Is. The. One. The words were repeated in my head with such resounding loudness that I stopped breathing for a few seconds.

“Hi.” Hope peeked around my body and waved at the wolf, like she was Little Red Riding Hood and he wasn’t going to steal all her cookies, eat her grandmother, and then try to kill her too.

“You don’t wave at a wolf,” I grumbled. “That’s just begging the bull to charge, and the last thing I need is to get gutted by one of his claws because he ‘slipped.’” I made air quotes and glared in Mason’s direction.

“One time, Siren.” Mason shrugged. “And I did slip.”

“Slip my ass,” I said through clenched teeth. “My insides nearly spilled onto the floor!”

Hope made a gagging noise.

And then she was walking toward Mason, like he was the freaking welcoming committee and she had absolutely no reason to be terrified of his fur, or height, or freaking canine teeth!

She reached out and then jerked her hand back. “I’m sorry, I just… can I feel your fur? There’s something about it that just….”

Arrogance floated off Mason and slammed into me in fitful waves. My stomach clenched as he knelt down and held still.

Hope touched his arm and then moved her hand higher as Mason let out a low rumble and started to pant.

“Any lower and he’s going to have a problem.” I said casually, even though it was a lie.

I could feel Hope’s embarrassment just like I could feel Mason’s irritation at making her stop. It felt good to him, and I knew more than anyone that the last person who had touched him in wolf form had their hand cut off, the time before that was his mate.

He didn’t have friends except Genesis and us.

Meaning. Mason never let anyone touch him.

Ever.

But he allowed Hope.

I refused to acknowledge what that meant just like I conveniently forgot that she had elf blood running through her puny weak little body.

Timber

HATRED FILLED ME.

Black tendrils of heat wrapped themselves around my body, squeezing it tight like a smoke-filled prison. And I breathed. In and out I breathed. It pissed me off.

The only time I could feel was when I allowed the darkness to take hold. Every other minute of the day, I was numb. Filled with a heat that could never be dampened. Filled with needs that were never met. Lust that would never be sated.

I was in a constant state of ruthless agony and a never-ending thirst that couldn’t be quenched.

With a snarl I tossed the cup of human blood back. The liquid spilled against my parched throat and slowly, the cells knit across my flesh, from the inside out, and peace settled over me.

This one.

I stared down at the cup.

She had been good.

So good.

Tags: Rachel Van Dyken The Dark Ones Saga Paranormal
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