Page 27 of Bond of Passion

If he didn’t get himself killed, Tavin had around four hundred and sixty years left of a five-hundred-year lifespan to live with his misdeeds. And with the way his luck usually went, he’d be tortured and murdered in his next life by someone he’d whacked in this one.

This shitwas so fucked-up, and the thing was, he only had himself to blame.

Putting aside the self-flagellation routine that got him nowhere, he unlocked his front door with a verbal command. Next up, some peace and quiet and maybe a rewatch of the newest Dr. Strange movie.

And a shower. Definitely a shower. As he opened the door, he practically groaned at the thought of basking in the hot water until it ran cold. Beer first, then a shower, and then—

He froze as he crossed the threshold. Something was wrong. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t even describe it beyond a mild tingle in his scalp.

He thought back to unlocking the door. He hadn’t heard a click when the lock spell deactivated.

Oh, shit.

The door had already been unlocked.

Alarm screamed through him as he automatically reached for the dagger at his hip, only to find empty air. He’d been so ready to get home that he hadn’t grabbed his weapons from his hospital locker before he left.

“Integumentum!”

A shield spell activated around him as he one-eightied to the doorway.

And slammed into a hairy beast with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth and spikes for claws.

It took a heartbeat to recognize him. And another heartbeat for Tavin to seize a dagger from its wall mount and sink it into the thing’s throat, killing him the way he’d killed the bastard two decades ago.

But before the demon hit the ground, Tavin’s shield spell broke, and fresh pain shot through him as two, maybe three big dudes took him down with fists, knives, and at one point, Tav swore he saw—and felt—a pitchfork.

He tried to fire up his Seminus gift and cause some damage. Nothing. Not even a spark. A boot to the head knocked his vision offline for a second, but he only fought harder. He punched, kicked, stabbed, barely feeling the agony of what they were doing to him.

It was bad, though. If all that blood on the floor and walls was his? Yeah, bad.

Where the fuckwas his serpent? Why wasn’t it biting the fuck out of him and turning him into a raging beast?

Come on, buddy.

Gods, he was desperate if he was begging that bastard to wake up. In the five years he’d had the thing, he’d only ever dreaded its bite. Now, when he needed it the most—

“Hey, you son of a bitch.”

Fetid breath stung his eyes and nostrils as clawed hands flipped him roughly onto his back. He caught a flash of silver at his ankles. Bracken Cuffs. Which explained why his shield spell had collapsed and his Sem gift wouldn’t work. And why that damned viper hadn’t bitten him. The cuffs were designed to negate the wearer’s special abilities and all magic.

Son of a bitch.

The stinky-breathed guy got down in his face, his shiny, pallid skin stretched over stark bone and horny growths.

“Recognize me?”

Yeah. Yeah, he did. “Hey, Roland.” Tavin coughed blood, splattering Roland’s face. “I see the poison I gave you didn’t do any permanent damage.” He coughed again. Please don’t be a punctured lung. “So why don’t you let me up?”

Roland wiped his cheek and snarled. “No permanent damage? I died, you asshole. And when I got my body and life back, it was too late. My mate had taken another. I had to kill her, her mate, and all her younglings. You ruined my life, you fucker.”

“Mine too!” someone chimed in.

“And mine.”

“Ditto.”

“My life’s okay,” called out one guy, “but I still wanna kill him.”

Fuck. It was getting hard to breathe.

“Welcome to your Dar’grut, Tavin.” Roland licked Tavin’s blood off his hand, his sadistic smile promising a world of hurt.” You’re about to die dozens of times.”

Tavin sucked in an agonizing, rattling breath. Definitely a punctured lung. If he were lucky, it would kill him before they did. If not, he was going to wish it had.

Dozens of times.