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Fuck the pain. Fuck all of this. These assholes are going to kill my Mate and I’m just lying here, unable to do anything but watch.
“I will fucking ruin you!” My parched throat cracks on the threat, but I’ve never meant anything more in my life. I will ruin this sadistic asshole. I’ll drain him dry with my own fangs, and I’ll make it last. I’ll bleed him for months. Years. Until he’s on his knees, begging for me to end him.
Varenthrall raises a sardonic brow. “Will you, now?”
“Why?” I demand. “Why take her blood?”
“Oh, I think you know why.”
It’s almost terrifying how quickly he morphs from calm and collected to crazed psycho in mere seconds. Spittle flies from his mouth as he advances on me, snarling, “You know because you found blood and you fucking stole it from me!”
No.
No. No way. That’s not possible.
My head snaps to Idril. I study her face, gaunt and hollow and so fucking broken, and I know. I know it’s not a lie.
Her blood. The blood I found in his office is her blood.
The blood Dax claims isn’t decaying properly. The blood that fucked him up so bad he sent it for gene sequencing just to discover what it belongs to.
That’s what I’ve been smelling. That’s why it’s so familiar.
It’s the same scent that drove Vae to near madness.
Lavender, ozone, and amber.
I can smell it perfectly now. It bursts through the room as Albertson unhooks the bag. When he reseals it, it fades once again, but I swear I can still smell it. Still taste it.
My nostrils flare, my vampire nature desperate for another lungful of the scent. It’s fading quickly, but under the scent of her blood is… something else.
Something that’s just now hitting my nose.
Something that has my Alpha going unnaturally still. A predator scenting prey.
It’s deeper. Richer. More intense. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and finally—finally—get a read on it.
It’s—
Mine! My Alpha roars as the scent slams into me like a fucking freight train. A scent so perfect, so fucking right, it bypasses every logical thought in my head, all the pain in my body, to dig straight into my soul.
Everything disappears. All that remains is the scent. A storm rolling in, about to break over a golden field of wildflowers.
Honeycomb in my hand, sticky golden sugar dripping down my fingers and over my wrist.
Heat curling off skin and silk. Something purely Idril that’s decadent and rich, and mine.
Omega.
My Omega.
The Scent Match Bond snaps into place. It hits me so hard I’d stagger if I were standing.
Scent Match. Mate Bond.
Two fucking Bonds.
The agony plaguing me is nothing compared to this new feral need.
