Chapter
One
The poundingbass in the seedy Bucharest club hammered at the constant rattling in Race’s head, patching over the fractures in his mind.
Exactly how he liked it.
Because all too soon, they would crack open again.
And chains would rattle.
The Fates’ favorite fucking plaything. Me.
Exhaling roughly, Race leaned back in his chair, half hidden in the shadows, as strobes flashed and pulsing techno held the crowd in its writhing spell. This was one of the few places open from noon until dawn, providing him with what he needed.
Bodies gyrated against each other in desperation, as if they, too, were trying to forget something.
Around him, humans knocked back booze and cut white lines on scarred tables. Scantily clad women in scraps of leather prowled the room, looking for a quick score and a few bucks?—
A breathy moan pulled his attention to the intoxicated blonde currently straddling his lap. She’d claimed the spot moments after he’d pushed back his chair to stretch his legs. Now, she rocked on him, her whimpers increasing.
He didn’t care who she was. She chased after what she wanted—he just needed the noise, the contact, and momentary proof he was still made of something solid.
Glassy green eyes fixed on his, she clutched his neck, her musky arousal taunting him. “Make me come, handsome.”
He grabbed her hips and shifted her directly onto his crotch. “Wake up my cock, and it’s all yours.”
She whimpered, grinding harder. He reached past her, grabbed his glass from the table, and slugged back the scotch. It went down like water, not even a damn burn.
Not booze.
Not sex.
Nothing touched him.
Only the relentless rattle inside his head, which nearly paralyzed him, remained, often followed by echoes of screams. His.
His life was a fucking delight.
He lifted the empty glass, the dull lighting bouncing off it. At the right angle, he swore he saw stars?—
The blonde on his lap moaned yet again and rocked herself faster. At least she was getting off. He might not have an erection, but his bulge was obvious. He was one massive bastard, after all.
Her halter top loosened, and with her jerky movements, one tit popped free. He glanced at the pink nub. She whimpered, rubbing harder against his cock?—
Let’sss go,his dragon rumbled.
His alter ego usually retreated when Race drowned himself in whatever shit dulled the constant darkness clawing his mind. Guess he was privileged this afternoon.
No.
You don’t even get off.
His dragon just had to point that out as if he didn’t know. He hadn’t felt a lick of sensation in three and a half millennia, not since Tartarus?—
Pain erupted inside his skull. Race grunted. Scales rippled beneath his skin. His dragon hissed, tormented by memories neither of them wanted.
You want me to leave? Then shut the fuck up. Maybe this human will help me regain my sanity.
