Camille’s heart raced. She wanted to lunge around the fire and tackle him into the sand. She wanted to lick every salty, delicious inch of him. She wanted to feel his fist in her hair and his mouth on hers. Gods, she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
She felt that deep unraveling again, faster than before. If they made contact, that was it. No more choice. No more ice baths. No more union. Her life would be over.
Or it would finally begin,her heart whispered.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she stared at him. He didn’t move, though he nearly vibrated with tension. He didn’t breathe. He waited, despite what she guessed was a crushing wave of instinct, for her to choosehim.
Because she was his mate. Despite the obstacles and the years, he loved her still. He wanted her. More importantly, he wanted her to want him back.
Everything in her shifted.
Affection glowed, rich and vibrant, in her chest.He’s a good man — and better, he could be mine, if only I had the courage to give myself to him in return.
“Vik,I—”
A low whine, barely audible over the whistle of wind, was their only warning before the bolt slammed into Viktor’s shoulder.
ChapterTwenty-Two
At first,he only registered the impact.
Viktor felt the slam of some great force into his shoulder, throwing him back into the sand. His teeth clacked together, clipping his tongue, and the coppery tang of blood filled his mouth. There was a dull roar in his ears as his mind fought to catch up with what had happened.
In the space between blinks, reality bled into his awareness. So did pain.
I’ve been fuckingshot, he realized, trying to breathe through the agonizing burn. Pain threatened to blot out his vision. Black spots floated in front of his eyes, muddying the glow of the fire, the sight of Camille lunging around it to cover him with her own body as sand sprayed in a wide arc around her.
Dazed, it took him a second to figure out why that was bad and why on Earth she would do it in the first place.
Someone is still shooting at us.
Bolts of superheated plasma whizzed over their heads and into the sand around them, making it pop and crackle as it instantly turned to jagged glass.
Viktor’s senses returned to him, vicious and wild. “Fuck!”
Ignoring the pain, he slung his good arm around Camille’s svelte waist and flipped them over. Using his wider frame, he guarded her from the onslaught as best he could, cursing himself for his lack of caution.
They were in perhaps the worst possible place to be caught by a damn sniper. The only cover the alcove offered was a sandstone boulder a few yards away from their fire, but it was in no way big enough to provide any real protection for long. Other than that, they were completely exposed.
Fear was a cold drip down his spine, numbing the sharpest edge of his pain. Camille was in danger. Hismatewas in danger.
Never, in all his life, had he felt such visceral, stomach churning terror.
Not when he thought Valen would kill him for breaking into the Solbourne apartments. Not when he watched his mother wither away under his father’s cold cruelty. Not when he ripped the old bastard’s throat out.
Nothing compared to the feeling that he might lose his mate moments after getting her back.
Viktor took advantage of a brief lull in bolt fire — about the time it took for a power cell to be changed out — to haul them both toward the boulder. The agony in the torn and cauterized wound that once was his shoulder and upper chest made movement seem impossible, but he gritted his teeth and did it anyway. Sweating profusely and using his one good arm, he managed to get them both at least somewhat covered by the sandstone seconds before the bolts started up again, this time aiming for the space around the rock.
Whoever it was behind the gun wasn’t the best marksperson, but what they lacked in skill, they made up for in quantity.
“Vik.”His name was a harsh breath against his cheek. Her voice was raw when she said, “Vik, you’re hurt.”
He turned his head, desperately trying to get a good look at her, but they were plastered so close together that he didn’t see much beyond the side of her face. “Were you shot?”
She shook her head. He felt the prick of her claws somewhere around his waist and realized, with an awful jolt, what he’d done.
“Gods,” he choked out, wishing he could push her away and yet entirely unable to do so. Guilt stole the air from what was left of his lungs. It was worse than the pain, worse than the fear.I stole her choice.
