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“Liza!” Stygian caught her before her knees could collapse, before the shock could steal not just her strength but also her control. “Liza, are you okay?”
“Get me out of here.” She was going to be sick. “Get me out of here, Stygian.”
And he did just that. No questions, no demands. Lifting her into his arms and carrying her from the remnants of the sweat lodge, he took her away from the past and back into the present.
Nothing could steal the memory of those dark, terrifying days just before the ritual that had taken from her and Fawn the nightmares of their lies and had instead given them the peace and sheltered existence that Liza Johnson and Claire Martinez had been so determined to forsake.
And now, nothing could steal from her the realization of why they had been forced to make such a horrifying decision.
She could never again hide from what she was.
CHAPTER 17
But, it wasn’t as easy as Stygian had hoped it would be, and Liza wasn’t cooperating when it came to explaining exactly what had happened in that damned desert.
She shut down on him.
It wasn’t the distance he had experienced from her before. That complete emotional and spiritual distance, which assured his animal instincts that she was nothing more than a perfect, breathing shell.
This was different, but no less disconcerting. It was as though a part of her was so focused on something else to the point that there was no room for anything or anyone else.
That focus had completely eradicated the mating heat, and it was infuriating him.
The animal that lived under his skin was enraged by it.
His cock was just tortured. He was so damned hard, so fucking hungry for the taste of her, the touch of her, that it was about to drive him insane.
Two days later, Stygian could feel his frustration level moving into overload and threatening his control to the point that it was becoming dangerous.
Where was the mating heat and how had she managed to dampen it when no other mate had managed to do so?
Heat, like in sex on a near-constant level?
Heat, like his mate dying for his touch twenty-four-seven.
Heat in the fact that they were supposed to fuck like minks and be unable to stay the hell away from each other?
Fucking.
Fighting.
Talking.
Bonding.
That was mating heat.
Where the hell was the mating every other Breed experiencing it got to have, yet it seemed was being denied him?
It wasn’t that he wasn’t experiencing it, because God knew he was.
His tongue was so damned swollen it felt like a fucking golf ball was wedged beneath his tongue on each side. The heavy throb of the fluid contained within it was almost painful, and each small droplet of the moisture that pushed free of it to infuse his system was torturous in its effect on his body.
His cock was so swollen and hard it was damned near unbearable. The heavy veins pulsed with blood and lust, tightening to the point that he knew there would be no ease without the touch of his mate. And that touch didn’t seem forthcoming. The lust that should have been burning to tortured hunger inside her wasn’t happening.
At least, it hadn’t been happening for the past two days or nights.
Confusion, fear and a latent pain filled his mate’s mind to the point that it seemed there was no room for lust. That inner focus, confusion and fear that swirled through her senses was so intense that he couldn’t break through it.
