“Want another go round, Flint?” He holds the knife up and I see the blade coated in something. “I bet they could hear your screams for miles.”
Neither Flint nor Beth respond, their silence pissing him off. He takes a step closer before one of the others interrupts him.
“Where are we taking them?” He nods at Mal, slumped on the ground, cradling his broken arm as best he can.
“To the clearing we marked this morning.” Birch steps back but keeps his knife in view. “Play nice and you might get out of this alive.”
Is it my imagination, or did he purposefully avoid looking at me when he said that?
Again, he’s met with silence.
After Beth and Flint are dragged out of the van, Birch’s gaze lands on me, lingering on my unbound hands. “Restrain him,” he orders as they reach for me next.
“Why?” the guy next to him asks, scowling. “It’s not like he’s a threat.”
“No.” Birch smiles, and my stomach drops at the coldness of it. “But it’ll kill Lynx to see him like that.”
I don’t get the silver-coated handcuffs, but they find rope from somewhere and bind my wrists in front of me.
Birch walks over to me, dipping his head to sniff my neck. I stumble back to get away, but there’s a solid wall of muscle at myback, stopping me. “I see things have changed since we left you in the forest.”
The reminder of what they did to me sends ice through my veins. I’d managed to block it from my mind until now, but as I watch big, nasty fangs slide out from his jaw, the memories flood back. My heart thuds, each breath drawn harder than the last as Birch stares at my neck, tongue sliding over those teeth in a way that makes my skin crawl.
He reaches up and traces the base of my throat.
Where they bit me.
I was expecting it to scar badly, but Corey’s shifter blood has healed them to almost nothing.
Birch presses down with his thumb, to the point that it hurts. “I bet it killed him to see my mark on you. To smell my scent.”
He ducks his head again.
It takes a second to realise the wet sensation is Birch licking me.
“Fuck off,” I hiss, trying to step back but there’s nowhere to go. I shove my bound hands at his chest, but he laughs, warm breath hitting my throat, the rest of him not moving an inch.
Then he bites down.
Hard.
Rage-filled roars echo around me, but I’m lost to the fucking terror of Birch’s fangs sinking into my skin.
It’s over and done before the pain fully registers and he steps back, licking my blood off his now human-looking teeth. “There,” he says, wiping his mouth and sporting a smug grin. “That should piss him off enough to react.”
The other guy laughs. “You’re a sick fuck.” There’s admiration in his tone, and it’s horribly familiar.
He was there that night too.
It takes everything I have in me to stay upright, to not let the panic take hold. I am so fucking scared right now.
Terrified.
And I’ve never felt so helpless.
Not since the last time the FBs had me in a fucking forest. What the hell did I do to deserve this? Why me?
Pretty sure I’ve answered these questions once already, but I cling to the anger building inside me, grab a hold of it tight, because it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
