Dark Surrender (The Dark Ones Saga 3)

“Can he even walk?”

“Love is a powerful motivator,” was Cassius’s vague answer as he walked out the front door and disappeared.

“I hate his riddles.” Ethan walked in the kitchen and yawned. “They make my head hurt.”

A roar sounded from upstairs.

Ethan’s eyes widened before he ran toward the hall and took the stairs two at a time, bursting into Alex’s room. I was hot on his heels.

Alex was tossing and turning in bed, blood had spattered on the walls, the headboard, saturated the sheets, and dripped onto the carpeting. It was everywhere as though it was still leaking from his wound.

“Are we sure he’s not dying?” I whispered.

“Smells like it,” Ethan added.

Alex’s eyes flashed open. “Need. Hope.”

“No.” Protectiveness surged over me as my claws bit into the palm of my hands. “Go back to sleep.”

Ethan gave me a look that said, “Right, would you be able to sleep in your own sweat and blood?”

I shrugged.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

“Need her!” Alex shouted again, and this time his voice shook the house.

“Um…” I frowned at his writhing body. “That’s new.”

Ethan covered his ears as Alex’s screaming grew louder and louder.

I moved toward him only to get flung back against the wall. His amber eyes locked on me and turned about fifty shades of blue before his hair turned an icy cobalt.

“That’s new too,” Ethan said before falling to his knees. “What the hell Alex?”

Alex stumbled out of bed. “Need her. Help me. Need her!”

“Yeah, we can hear you!” I yelled back at him. “Whatever you’re doing, stop!”

His eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood dripped down his fingertips and onto the nice clean floors. “She’s close.”

“Did he just sniff the air?” I asked a frowning Ethan.

We were powerful.

Ethan hadn’t been taken down by a siren, ever.

And the fact that a werewolf had just been flung against the wall like a china doll — a bit horrifying.

Sirens were emotional beings.

Not physical.

“In. Danger.” He stumbled. “She’s in danger.”

“Timber will protect her with his life — go to bed.”

“Not from him…”