Page 90 of Entombed By Blood
“I can confirm, rutting under the full moon is fucking amazing.” Finn grins back at both of them. “But he’s probably right. A lycan at full rut isn’t something you’re ready to experience just yet, let alone all three of us.”
The sane, sensible part of my mind agrees with him. No normal woman would even consider what he’s saying hot. Unfortunately, my inner slattern doesn’t agree. She’s already picturing what it could be like to fuck a lycan in beast mode, and maybe it’s just a delayed response to all of Draven’s teasing, but somewhere low in my belly, warmth pools at the idea.
Damn it, I’m not doing this. Finn and Draven’s bonds are already at a tipping point. If I get physically involved with either of them, I’ll be putting Immy’s freedom at risk for my own selfish desires.
Or you could just ask them to help you free Immy,my traitorous inner voice says.The pack already knows where she’s being held because they travelled there to collect me. They could help.
They’d never do it. EvenifI could somehow convince them of the benefits of bringing back my sister, they’re focused on rescuing Vane. After that, I doubt they’ll drop everything and find a way across the ocean to rescue the woman Cain once called ‘a waste of vampire blood.’
“As fascinating as this is,” Gideon snaps. “We have more important things to do than seduce the vampire. Finn, I want your drones marking out everything about the compound. Get them into position now so one of the others can pilot them while we’re occupied. There’ll be less guards with most of them chained down for the full moon. We can use that to sneak some of your bots in. I want to know if Evelyn is right that Vane’s being kept there before we waste resources.”
I’m right—I know I am—but even I can see the wisdom in his decision. No need to send someone in after a prisoner who might not be there.
Frost nods, agreeing at last. “Draven and I know enough about the bots to—”
“No!” Finn growls, his eyes flashing with surprising vehemence. “If Draven goes anywhere near my babies, they break. He has zero technological ability. Zero.”
Frost holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll pilot it. Draven can guard Evie while I’m busy.”
The vampire in question tightens his arms around me in a brief squeeze. “I’m sure we’ll find something to keep us occupied. Won’t we, doll?”
The husky timbre of his voice tells everyone exactly what he hopes we’ll be doing, and Frost’s jaw clenches in response. Those strange, double fangs he has are just peeking out from below his top lip. The air in my lungs turns icy as he takes a single step towards Draven, his whole body wound tight with angry tension.
“Don’t,” I whisper, catching his eyes with my own.
“Eve…” He visibly struggles for a second, fangs dropping fully, before he breaks my stare and looks away.
“Don’t fight over me. The moment—the moment that happens, I’ll break every single one of our bonds. I swear it.”
It’s a hollow threat, but I hold my chin up and dare him to call me on it. No part of me can live through watching him suffer like that again, but I won’t be a toy for these men to fight over.
He visibly swallows and nods, no doubt remembering what it felt like. “Understood.”
Draven grins wickedly. “Oh, doll, we’re going to have fun, you and I.”
I wonder if the vampire has a death wish as Frost growls and stalks from the room.
Chapter Thirty-One
Draven
One of thegreatest downsides of vampirism is spending every sunlit hour unconscious for the first three hundred years of your existence. Despite being second generation—something most vampires would brag about—I’m no better than any other two-hundred-year-old at resisting the pull of the sun. I usually manage to stay awake for an hour after dawn at most.
Callista broke me of the compulsion to seek the darkest, lowest part of the room to rest in—normally under the bed—but even she doesn’t have the power to destroy biology.
It’s evolution. When the most lethal thing to a species is the sun, that species will adapt to avoid it at all costs, even rewriting their circadian rhythms in the name of survival.
Doesn’t make it any less of a pain when my eyes snap open at sunset and I find myself cling-filmed to the bed.
“Silas,” I growl, fighting against what must be a hundred layers of plastic sheeting. “You’re dead!”
More than dead. I’ll play ping-pong with his eyeballs for this.
The plastic tears under my claws, and I manage to free my upper body enough to sit up. It won’t take long to free my legs, but that’s not the issue here. I sleep nude, which—knowing the immature beta—means there are photos of my plastic wrapped dick somewhere. If he’s enlisted Finn, there are backups too.
The door swings open and I bare my fangs at the intruder, only to quickly sheath them as Evie tip-toes into the room, carrying a mug of blood. Her wide, blue eyes go round as she takes in the scene before her, then she starts to giggle.
“Which of them sent you in here?” I ask, ripping my legs free of the plastic and pushing myself off of the mattress.
