Damar stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his silver hair a wild mess, and his emerald eyes burning with a murderous light. His fist was still clenched, trembling from the effort not to throw a second blow.
"Six days," Damar hissed, his voice a lethal, low-frequency vibration that seemed to shake the very walls. "Six days of listening to her scream your name while her scent called for us."
It was enough to run mad. Who knew how hard it was to control their instincts and keep to themselves even as my scent filled the hallways and my moans echoed in the ceilings.
Thalor slowly turned his head back, a thin trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He didn't look angry; he looked remarkably calm, almost smug. He adjusted me in his arms, pulling the furs tighter around my pale, sleeping face.
"She wanted me, Damar," Thalor rasped, his voice a shredded melody. "She asked me to stay. She asked me to fill her. Would you have had me deny her?"
