At the same time in the Passing Realm, Clyde shot upright in bed with a ragged gasp, his body slick with cold sweat that clung to his skin and traced rivulets down the hard lines of his chest.
The fur blanket tangled around his waist did nothing to steady the violent pounding of his heart.
His breath came shallow, uneven, as his eyes dropped to his hands. They trembled faintly as he turned them over, staring as though expecting to see them dripping with the same blood from the dream that had just ripped him awake.
Clyde exhaled a ragged breath, his jaw tightening until it ached. If not for the vow he had sworn to Ryley—to never again push the blond into a choice, to never drag him into chains disguised as devotion—he would have already taken Greyson Leo's head and displayed it for daring to even dream of courting what was his.
