Bound by the Night (Bound #4)(2)
Author: Cynthia Eden

Latham, get ready to die.

***

Don’t kill him.

The whisper slid through the shattered remains of Iona’s mind. His blood was in her mouth, flowing like rich bliss over her tongue. His hot, strong body was against hers, and…

Her heart was beating. Hard, pounding beats that seemed to tremble through her. She could feel and hear every single beat.

Her teeth pressed into him. She was probably hurting this man, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She was starving. Had been starving, for so very long.

Pull back. Don’t kill.

But it was so hard to keep her control.

Her heart beat was growing faster. She could feel the power of his blood sliding through her body. Giving her strength when before there had been only weakness. There’d been…nothing.

“I think that’s enough.” His voice was low, deep, and tinged with the faintest brush of an Irish accent.

She ignored his words. Iona hadn’t enjoyed her fill of him yet and—

“I said…enough.” His hands, big, powerful, caught her shoulders and shoved her away. Her back hit the wooden headboard of the bed, and she blinked up at him.

“If you drain me, then this little deal isn’t going to work.”

She licked her lips and still tasted him. Maybe it was because she’d gone without blood for so long, but the man—he’d tasted incredible. Fresh. Wild. Spicy.

She’d like more.

When Iona tried to lunge forward, his hands just tightened around her shoulders, and he kept her pinned against the bed’s head-board. “Not so fast, baby.”

Baby? Her eyes narrowed and she actually managed to focus and look up at his face.

Hard angles. Brutal cheekbones. A sharp nose. Lips that were…sexy.

Her breath whispered out.

There were faint scars on his left cheek. Old. Little ridges that raised the flesh and gave him a tough, dangerous appearance.

She’d always enjoyed danger.

Until that lust for danger sent me to hell.

His hair was dark, even darker than her own. Light drifted through the window on the far right. Light. Actual light! And with that light, she saw only pure black in his hair. His eyes—a sharp, intense green—were a bright contrast to that thick darkness.

“You settlin’ down?” he demanded and that faint Irish burr rolled beneath his words. Some might not have even noticed that slight accent.

Iona wasn’t some.

She was also hardly settling down.

But…how did he hold her back so easily? She’d taken a lot of blood from him during that frenzied feeding. He should be weak.

If he were human, he would be unconscious.

Just what type of creature was he?

His gaze flickered over her. Blood—his—had dripped onto her dress.

Her heart beat had finally dimmed. Her heart still raced just as frantically in her chest, but the thunderous booms didn’t threaten to burst her ears any longer. Her heartbeat had been the first sound she’d stopped hearing.

Listen, Iona…listen to these last, desperate beats.

Thud.

Thud.

Do you hear them? They’re slowing. Soon, they’ll stop.

Thud.

And you’ll never hear your heart beat again.

As that memory whispered through her mind, a scream broke from her and Iona lunged upward as she battled the ghost from her past. Her nails turned into claws, and she attacked the man before her. She swiped out, catching him across the chest and then tossing him aside.

In the next instant, she was on her feet. The long dress tangled around her legs and she ripped the fabric away from her thighs as she lunged for the door and sweet, sweet freedom.

Get out. The walls wouldn’t hold her prisoner any longer. She wouldn’t hear the rustle of insects or the scuttle of rats or the whisper of the wind or—

Iona yanked open the heavy metal door, nearly tearing it right from its hinges.

Another man whirled to face her. His handsome face tightened when he saw her and claws broke from his nails. Long, razor-sharp claws that could have passed for knives. Claws that were much bigger and shaper than the talon-like ones that she possessed.

Werewolf.

Rage filled her, blocking all other thought. The room faded in focus around her. She could only see him. The beast. The monster.

Just like the one who’d imprisoned her.

“Die.” Her whisper. Her voice was broken. She was broken. But killing the wolf could help to make her whole. This man—this werewolf—he hadn’t been the one to save her. Not like the other one. He hadn’t brought her back. So there was no remorse in her, no phantom urge to protect him as she grabbed his head and twisted his neck to the side.

Then she felt claws circle her own throat.

“He can be an ass**le sometimes, but I can’t let you kill him.”

The other man. Irish. And had he said ass**le or arsehole? With the Irish thickening in his voice, she couldn’t tell for sure. Not that it mattered. What mattered was…

Her rescuer had…claws, too. Werewolf. Two werewolves.

She freed the fool at the door even as she began to plan her next attack.

“Get out of here, Sean,” Irish said.

The one called Sean scrambled back and jerked the door closed as he left.

Her captor kept his claws at her throat and slowly forced her to turn and face him. Blood soaked his shirt and that sweet scent tempted her. Iona’s fangs were out, and her body, so long starved for nourishment, shuddered with longing.

Another taste.

If he didn’t kill her, she’d get that taste. As weak as she was, even a mangy wolf might be able to take her out.

Maybe.

“I want my taste, too.”

She had no idea what he was talking about.

His green eyes seemed to burn into hers. “I bled for you, and now it’s your turn.”

The claws at her neck slid across her skin. The pain was brief, a prick that she almost didn’t even feel, but then he was pulling her closer. Wrapping his arms around her, and because the man was huge—towering far over six feet—he lifted her up against him so that her toes barely touched the ground.

Then he put his mouth on her throat and he…he licked her skin. Her breath shuddered out of her. Iona knew she should fight, but her legs were still weak. She ached. She…

Liked the feel of his mouth on her.

“Mmmm…didn’t expect that,” the man murmured against her skin.

Her eyes were wide open, staring behind him at the bed that had been her jail cell.

How long had she been there? So long that she’d gone crazy enough to let a wolf put his paws on her.