The Offering (The Pledge 3)

Niko’s touch drew my attention, the back of his hand caressing my cheek and stroking my jaw. “Charlaina, please. Be reasonable. I have no intention of harming you.” He came closer, so that his lips were in the same place his hand had been just seconds before. At my jaw. “It’s her I want. Only her.” Goose bumps prickled my skin everywhere. “Always her.”

Sabara knew. She knew what he meant, and she didn’t shy away.

I knew I was bested when I could no longer feel the goose bumps, only the sensation of warmth bleeding into my limbs, all the way to my fingertips. I was intoxicated by her power. Drugged and woozy as her Essence overwhelmed me, her desire to be near him winning out over all else.

“Niko,” I breathed, even as I tried to hush my vocal cords.

The need I heard buried in my own voice was heartbreaking, and Niko responded to it. He captured me, and suddenly it wasn’t just Sabara who overpowered me. Niko’s lips crushed mine, and I let him, unable to do anything else.

My mouth parted to let him in. He conquered, and I yielded.

The taste of him was heady, and his touch was electric.

And not one of those feelings—or reactions—was my own. But that didn’t stop me from basking in them. From getting lost in the sheer, unadulterated bliss he’d unleashed within me.

I was still pinned, but no longer trapped. I pressed myself against Niko’s chest and let his hands rove over my back, my sides, his thumbs finding their way to my stomach. They moved up . . .

And up . . .

. . . too high . . .

I wasn’t sure which of us was more surprised when my teeth sank into his tongue. Or whether it was me or Sabara who flinched first from the taste of his blood.

But I knew for certain that I was the one who’d had enough and had come to my senses long enough to put an end to Sabara’s influence over me. At least long enough to stop whatever had been transpiring between Niko and me.

“Bitch,” he cursed, and shoved me back as he swiped the blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Bitch, Sabara echoed, and I banished her once more, my resolve strengthening as my confidence returned. I wished I could bite her, too. I wanted to see her bleed.

I saw Eden fighting to free herself. She wanted blood as well.

“We’re here,” the driver, another soldier, announced from the front of the VAN, and I lifted my head to see where here was, exactly.

What I saw caused cold fingers of dread to seize my spine and rattle me to the core. I wanted to cry or scream, but I did neither. My mouth was open as I stared at the tented city that spread out before me.

There were a thousand tents if any. Not multicolored or jumbled or packed together to take up as little space as possible.

No, this encampment was orderly and single-hued. Black like death, and mottled only by the red Astonian banners that waved overhead. The tents themselves were so numerous that they extended for as far as I could see, disappearing into the valley beyond.

I felt sick, and wondered again and again and again why exactly Niko had brought me here. Why he had turned to Elena’s side.

And then she was there. Elena. Waiting for us.

Her expectant gaze searched the VAN as it drew to a stop. “Why?” I managed at last, just as Niko was yanking me up from my seat. He was no longer tender, and his fingers bit into my arm as he dragged me to the front of the vehicle.

His eyes alighted on Elena, and he plastered a smile to his lips, not bothering to look down at me when he answered. “For her, of course. Always for her.”

As he shoved me down the steps, delivering me at the feet of my fiercest opponent, a woman I abhorred almost as much as the soul residing within me, I had to wonder which of them he’d meant—Elena or Sabara.

sage Sage supported Xander’s weight the best she could. It had been that way for miles, as she’d forced him to continue walking, if that’s what you even called what he was doing. She felt more like she was hauling him at this point. He could barely stand on his own, let alone manage the work of dragging one foot and then the other, to keep moving—the work required to be considered walking.

Her shoulders and her back and her own feet ached. She was sweating, despite the chill in the air. But she couldn’t stop until she found a suitable place to camp for the night.

No, not camp. Hide.

She watched as the sun set, moving lower and lower in the sky, and she tried to make conversation with her companion. To keep him alert. To convince herself he was okay.

That she wasn’t going to have to dump his body somewhere.

“We’ll stop when we reach those trees up ahead,” she told him.

“Mm,” he grunted, making an attempt to raise his head so he could see what trees she referred to.

“We should be able to take cover in them. You can rest then.” Another grunt.

“Just a few more steps. You can do this.” She heard the desperation, the plea in her voice. She didn’t want him to know how worried she was for him.

There was no sound, no grunt this time, and she glanced sideways to see if he was still awake. His feet shuffled, as if he were automated, kicking up dirt in his path.

“Xander?” Her voice rose insistently.

Still, there was no response.

She tightened her grip on him, around his waist and on his arm, which was still draped around her shoulder. She squeezed as hard as she could until she knew she was pinching him. “Say something. I mean it.”

“That . . . hurts,” he slurred, almost incoherently, his only reaction to her fingers digging into his flesh.