My eyes were wide, locked—glued—to the scene unfolding in front of me. My breath was stuck somewhere between my ribs and my throat, as if even air itself was too afraid to move.
The Lycan King ran his fingers down the blade one more time, slowly, like he was caressing a lover. He wasn't in any hurry. No—he was enjoying this. Dragging it out. Relishing the way I flinched every time his foot stepped closer to Thane.
He dragged it along the edge of the wooden table slowly, the screeching sound scraping against my nerves.
Thane sat tied to the chair, wrists bound tight behind his back, bruises blooming across his cheekbone, blood dried at the corner of his mouth. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, and I could see where the skin beneath was raw, scraped. But his eyes—goddess, his eyes never left mine.
