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Chapter

Five

BENEATH THE MASKS

SLOANE

Rhys kneels in front of me. Callum still holds me against his chest. Dante finishes wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, tucking its edges beneath my legs until only my head and one hand remain visible. The final gold ribbon circles my wrist. The hunt continues. But none of the men touch me like hunters now.

“Give me your hand,” Rhys says.

I extend it. He examines the faint rope marks around my wrist, running his bare thumb across each one.

“Any numbness?”

“No.”

“Sharp pain?”

“No.”

“Dizziness?”

“A little.”

“Headache?”

“No.”

“Nausea?”

“No.”

“Lower back?”

“Sore.”

“Inside or muscular?”

“Both.”

Rhys looks toward Dante.

“Water and a heat pack.”

Dante gives him a sharp salute.

“Yes, Doctor Death.”

He disappears through a narrow door behind the altar. Callum rubs slow circles over my back beneath the blanket. His mask rests against my hair. His constant need for contact should feel suffocating. Instead, it steadies me. Rhys tests my ankles and checks the bite on my shoulder.

“What number?”

“Two.”

“And here?”

His fingers move over one of the darker marks left by Callum.