The taste of him lingered on my lips.

I didn’t wake curled in my bed from a dream of Lachlan, nor did I wake on his boat stretched alongside his body.  

No.

I woke not in the darkened stairs where I collapsed, but on the cold metal floor of the torture room, to the smell of blood, human waste, human decay, and brimstone. I gagged and spat out remnants of the black viscous residue that forced its way inside me.  

It left sticky splotches on my skin, clothes, and hair. My body ached, burned and froze simultaneously.

Although he remained in the center of the seal, the hooks that suspended Brandon’s body had been removed. He sported bondage jewelry that complimented mine, but more extensive. Where I simply wore a collar around my neck, he w...

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