But he ignores me, his mouth relentless against my aching clit. His hands pin my hips, holding me in place as he drives me closer to the edge.
Tears burn my eyes as I struggle against him. This isn't my Rhyland. My Viking would never ignore my pleas, never force his touch on me.
Am I losing my mind? Is this some kind of nightmare?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will myself awake. But when I open them again, he's still there, his eyes dark and hungry as he looks up at me from between my thighs.
"Just let go, baby," he coaxes, his voice a sinful purr. "I'll catch you."
But all I can think as he lowers his mouth to my core once more is that this isn't the man I love.
This is a monster wearing his face.
I wrench away from him, scrambling off the bed. My legs shake as I snatch up clothes—his shirt, my pants, anything to cover myself.
"Stop. Just fucking stop." My voice cracks as I yank the shirt over my head. "What did you do with him?"
"Baby, you're being ridiculous." He lounges on the bed, all predatory grace, watching me with eyes that are both familiar and foreign. "Come back to bed."
"No." I back toward the door, my heart thundering against my ribs. "My Rhyland would never—" I swallow hard. "He doesn't kiss like that. Doesn't touch like that. And he sure as hell doesn't ignore me when I say stop."
Something dark flickers across his face, there and gone so fast I almost miss it. "Perhaps I'm just in a different mood today." His smile is all wrong—too smooth, too practiced. "You're overthinking things, Angel."
That pet name on his lips makes my skin crawl. Because it's not right, nothing about this is right.
And then it hits me—a wave of dread so powerful it nearly brings me to my knees—that gnawing emptiness in my chest where our bond should be pulsing strong and steady. The wrongness I've been feeling isn't just about his touch or his kiss.
I can't feel him.
Can't feel our connection at all.
"Where is he?" Ice spreads through my veins as panic claws up my throat. "What have you done with him?"
He rises from the bed, stalking toward me. "Dani—"
"Don't!" I throw up my hands, light warming at my fingertips. "Don't you dare come near me. Where. Is. Rhyland?"
Something's happened to him. Something terrible. I can feel it in my bones, in that hollow space where our bond should be singing.
Rhyland is in danger. And this thing wearing his face is the reason why.
"Fine." His lips curve into a cruel smile that looks grotesque on Rhyland's face. "Let's drop the charade, shall we?"
The air shimmers like a heat wave, reality-bending as Rhyland's form melts away. My stomach lurches as his bulk stretches taller and leaner. Black hair spills past broad shoulders, and a crown of twisted metal sprouts from his head, two huge horns curling toward the ceiling like polished obsidian. When he opens his eyes, they're a piercing glacial blue that burns with ancient mischief.
"Holy shit." The words slip out as I stumble back, my shoulders hitting the wall.
"Now, now, little savior." He tsks, spreading his arms wide. His leather armor gleams like oil in the sunlight. "Is that any way to greet a god?"
"Who—" My voice cracks. I swallow hard, trying again. "Who the fuck are you?"
His laugh is like serrated knives. "Oh, you mortals are always so entertaining with your profanity." He sweeps into an elegant bow, all fluid grace and deadly intent. "Loki, God of Mischief, at your service." He straightens, those frost-blue eyes dancing. "I must say, I'm impressed. I thought I could fool you longer, but..." His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "You know your mate's touch quite intimately, don't you? Every..." He takes a step closer. "Single..." Another step. "Detail."
My power pulses beneath my skin, desperate to lash out. "Where is he?"
"Rhyland?" Loki's smile is sharp as a blade. "Oh, he's taking a lovely swim. Though I doubt he's enjoying it much—chains tend to make swimming rather difficult."
Bile coats my throat—burning it's way up. I swallow it down. The horror of what he's done—what he might still do to Rhyland—makes my stomach twist.
