Page 17 of Her Blood Revenge

‘Good. Then love me harder and suffer more.’

As I talk, his shadows darken and spread behind him.

Good. I want angry. I want nasty. I want my words to hurt and cause him agony.

I want him to fucking hate me as much as I hate him.

I wrap the silver chain loosely around my neck to get it out of the way and continue watching him. Waiting.

He places his feet together and straightens. He’s not taking the bait.

With an eye roll, I collect a black silk robe from the wardrobe and cover myself. When I reach the door, I look back over my shoulder. He hasn’t moved an inch.

I throw the door open, slamming it into the wall as hard as possible, and walk out into the hallway. After a couple of steps, I feel a slight pressure around my chest.

I know he’s picked up the doll. It’s in his grip, held fast but not too tight. My steps slow as I await the tug for when he calls me back.

But the tug never comes.

The Shadow Master lets me leave.

So I do. And I don’t look back.

My teeth sharpen as I walk away, splitting my lip wide open. The Shadow Master growls as he catches the scent, and I quickly try to lick the blood away.

Fucking fangs.

I head straight for the kitchen, seeking out another bottle of fae wine. They don’t want me to drink?

I’ll drink the damned wine cellar.

I’m not sure if they have one, but I’m having it if they do.

When I get there, I quickly realise Dorian was telling the truth. All that remains are empty bottles and the overwhelming smell of alcohol wafting in through the open window.

Shit.

Bastards!

There’s a thud. Then another and another. Following the sound, I come to a slightly ajar door down a hallway I’ve never seen before. When I open it, I see a shirtless wolf in human form slamming an axe into the stone floor of a disused study.

He raises the axe above his head, his back muscles bulging before he slams it down, shattering the stone and revealing a layer of earth beneath. He kicks it aside, adding the slab to the growing pile beneath the open window.

The pull of the soil ripples through the air, seeking me out. The endless life and possibilities, the miles of roots and scrambling of insects.

Life. Strength. Power.

It calls me in a beautiful song. A lullaby, filling the emptiness the guys put inside me. Easing the burn of my anger.

My teeth retract, and I lap up the last bead of blood from my lip.

‘Morning, Pix,’ the Wolf greets, wiping the sweat from his brow as he grips the axe tightly. ‘Sober at last, I see. Will I be hearing you speak today?’

Pulling my focus from his stomach to his face takes a lot. The lust in me is intense. Since I changed, my urges are so powerful that it takes all I have not to give in to them, especially when they’re half-naked, sweaty and looking like that.

Angry. I’m angry. Focus on that emotion, Ashe.

He grins as our eyes meet, and he points the axe at me.

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