Iburn.
Every inch of me is on fire, the flames racing up down my veins and into the demand bowing my back in intensity.
My hips pump, seeking something to fill, to consume. But there’s nothing, only endless clenching peaks of pain that empty my throat of screams.
I have no voice. No sound comes from my throat any longer, only a rasping, choking noise that isn’t enough to get the help I need.
My hands move desperately over my body, a pathetic replacement for the feel of larger, harder alpha hands I’m longing for. My fingers are soaked with my attempts to help myself; each try only making things worse. The oily liquid Alicia threw over me covers me like oil, metal burning the insides of my nose as I twist in agony.
Nobody is coming. My body twists, bending and unfolding as I try to ease the pain. I’m lost to the torture being inflicted on my body, so much so that I don’t hear the banging on the door at first. The shouting.
It’s when the door gets kicked in, splinters of wood hitting me as I slide pain-hazed eyes towards the light. My hand reaches out, and someone catches it.
The sob catches in my throat as violet eyes fill my vision, black pupils blown wide as Jax leans in, desperately kissing the tears away from my face.
“Sienna,” he breathes, his face tortured. “Sweetheart. It’s alright. We’re here now.”
I open my mouth to ask, to beg him, but Jax turns to snarl something. The anger remains in his eyes when he turns back to me, his hand tightening around mine.
A choked, strangled whimper catches in my throat. My hand tugs at his, pulling it down, to where I need him to be. His brows lower, his face uncertain.
“Sienna, the medication… Tristan is coming.”
I shake my head violently. I don’t want the medication.
Gray’s face appears over Jax’s shoulder, his eyes flicking over my face. “Tristan’s here,” he murmurs, and I yank my hand away with a whine.
This isn’t what I need. The fire is too strong. I need them, but they’re not listening. Jax is pulled away, his protests filling the confined space. I’m gagging on the metallic scent in my mouth, the movement and noise too much and not enough as Tristan takes his place.
“Sienna.” Tristan strokes my damp hair out of my face, his fingers sliding through the oil. He pulls his hand back, rubbing them together, before he turns away. My blurry eyes follow his every move, my body flinching when he yanks out the syringe.
“No,” I slur. My words aren’t coming out properly, a garbled, hoarse mash that makes Tristan pat my hand softly. Like I’m adog.
“I know it hurts,” he murmurs. “This will make it better.”
I force my muscles to move, to push with my legs so I scrabble away from the syringe in his hand. This is all wrong. They should want to be with me during my heat.
I’m their Soul Bonded.
My back hits a wall, my head banging against the iron sheet as Tristan moves closer, his hands out like he’s calming a rabid animal. I can see the hormones affecting him, his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them, sweat beading along his hairline and the outline of his dick pressing against his trousers.
Launching forward, I throw my arms around his neck, catching him by surprise as we topple over. He rolls so his back takes the brunt of the fall, grunting as his chest connects with mine. The coarse fabric isn’t the skin contact I want, but it’s better, and I rub myself against him desperately, my throat trying to push out the words to tell him. I’ve made my choice.
His hips settle against mine, and a low keen slips from my lips as the thickness of his cock presses directly against my slit.
Tristan’s breathing deepens, his mismatched eyes staring into mine before he squeezes them shut. His hands slide down my arms, taking my hands and pressing them above my head as he leans forward, pressing a kiss against my forehead.
“I promised you,” he whispers. “You don’t understand now. But you will.”
The haze of want inside my brain takes a moment to catch up, and then a tendril of fear snakes in. Tristan looks up, and I strain against his grip. His voice is dark. “Hold her.”
Voices shout, and I hear Jax cursing Tristan. An argument breaks out, and I thrash against his hands, fighting to get free. If I can get free, I can make him see.
“Tristan,” I choke, and he turns his head. His skin is bunched around his eyes, stress lines branching out from his forehead. “Stop. Please.”
He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “I have to make the difficult decisions, Sienna. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Next time—,”
But I’m shaking my head. A sob rattles up my chest, then another. Tristan turns away from me. “For fuck’s sake,” he says hoarsely. “Get over here!”
