Waves of heat rolled through me. Sweat beaded at my temples. And the wetness between my thighs was not only sliding down my leg but it was now visible, shameful, and I could smell it, and surely he could smell it too.
Rook inhaled sharply and groaned.
His pupils blew wide. His green eyes went black. And he made a sound I'd only read about in clinical literature—a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the glass.
Through the floor.
Through mybones.
Oh god.
It settled between my legs andpulled.
I moaned.
Out loud.
I couldn't stop it.
"Yes. There you are, my Beloved."
“I’m not your. . .beloved.”
A dark chuckle left him that was more menacing than anything I’d ever heard. “Soon.”
I shivered. “Soon what?”
“Soon you’ll see.” He reached into his waistband and pulled out a guard's walkie-talkie. Black plastic, standard issue. There was blood on it—fresh, still wet, glistening under the light.
When and how did he get that?
He raised the walkie-talkie to his lips, and his eyes never left mine as he spoke into the device, "The others are already in position."
I blinked.
His voice went calm. "Begin extraction."
What?
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the lights went out.
OH MY GOD!!
Darkness swallowed the space.
I couldn't see my own hands, couldn't see the hallway or the door, couldn't see anything except the afterimage of his smile burned into my retinas.
Next, emergency lighting flooded the corridor in red.
Rook stood perfectly still on his side of the glass, bathed in crimson light, watching me with patient hunger.
Get out of here! Now!
I started rushing away.
Rook’s voice followed me. "Run if you want! It won't matter! Every door leads back to me now!"
