Page 96

Crimson curls lifted from her shoulders, fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. Waves of agony bombarded Liam’s nerve endings.

Fuck. Is Alex doing this?

“Ohhh, that can’t be good,” Colin said behind him.

“Get back,” Liam snarled through gritted teeth.

Pressure built. His pulse pounded like anvils in his head, threatening to split his skull like a melon. Blood leaked from his nostrils. Through the pain, he sensed movement and glanced over his shoulder.

Slade crept in, reaching for his gun.

Hell no. Over Liam’s dead body—which was a distinct possibility.

“Let him go, Alex,” a weak voice commanded.

Liam swiveled his head. Jericho! Thank the gods.

Jericho’s eyes were rimmed with red, and yet surprisingly focused. He slipped an arm around Alex’s waist. “It’s okay. Let him go.”

She slumped against Jericho’s side, and Liam was free of the pain. He tumbled forward, catching himself just shy of a faceplant.

“Jericho.” The name left her lips on a sob, and her slight frame shook. “I can’t stop. Please make it stop.”

Liam inched closer. Slowly, he withdrew the gun at his hip. He met Jericho’s eyes with a grim nod.

“Just look at me,” Jericho crooned, drawing Alex’s attention. “Focus on me.”

Nausea sizzled in Liam’s gut. In all these years, he’d never so much as raised his voice at her.

He slammed the butt of the gun against Alex’s skull, and she collapsed.

Twenty-Five

Jericho pacedthe restrictive length of the medical room. Twelve-inch tiles blurred beneath his feet. Where was she?

Six steps… Six steps...

The moment they’d arrived at Claymore, a security team had ripped Alex from his arms. His body laden with tranquilizers, there was little Jericho could do to stop them. He hated the way her eyes flicked open, widening with fear as Doc Randall stuck a needle in her arm and ushered her away—to gods knows where.

Questions about Alex were met with cryptic answers. Doc said he’d only been allowed a few minutes to examine her—for safety reasons—whatever the hell that meant. At least her blood sample only showed trace amounts of black ice. A miracle since Jericho was drowning in the stuff when he’d changed her. Drowning in bloodlust and hungry for violence.

And yet here he was.

Alive.

Sane.

Helen hit him with a strong enough dose to turn an entire clan into rogues. The damage should have been irreversible.

Should have.

Twenty-four hours of being treated like a lab rat and Doc still couldn’t explain how Alex managed to bring him back.

Not that Jericho was any help. Memories of his time as a rogue were blurry at best. His last clear thought—

Alex’s final breath.

The image played over and over in his head, haunting, tormenting. He rubbed the burning ache in his chest.