Page 100 of Red Fury

Roman wipes a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth, licking it off his finger, his eyes practically glowing.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs, flexing his arms and rolling his shoulders like he’s testing newfound strength. “Absolutely exquisite. The blood of a shifter is far superior to the blood of a human, and it would seem that the blood of a dragon far outdoes the blood of a wolf. I’m so glad I sampled the goods.” He licks the corners of his mouth. “It was so good that I struggled to stop. I wanted…to drain you. So fucking good. I feel incredible.” He looks down at his muscles. “It’s like liquid energy running through my veins. It’s quite addictive.”

He studies me with renewed interest, tilting his head like he’s reconsidering his earlier decision. “Perhaps I should keep you, after all. Keep you for my drinking pleasure.”

The guard supporting me moves, changing his hold on me. I’m pretty sure he sniffs at me.

“I’ll have to give it some serious thought, little pet.”

“I’m not your pet,” I say under my breath, keeping my eyes on his.

Bastard!

He smiles. “We’ll see about that. I have some serious thinking to do.”

“Go to hell!” I snarl.

He walks over to me and takes off the earrings, pocketing them. “Take them away,” Roman orders with a dismissive wave. “Put them in the lockup space in the basement. Enjoy your time with your boyfriend while you still can.” He winks at me again.

The guard puts his arm around me and helps me walk. I wince each time I put weight on my ankle.

“No one touches them,” Roman warns. “Or drinks from them,” he growls at the guards.

A shiver runs up my spine.

“Of course not, Sire,” the guard says, inclining his head.

Sire.

Is that another one of his nicknames?

Maybe I just heard wrong. He must have said “sir.”

“I will kill anyone who takes from what is mine,” Kozlov adds.

“Understood, Sire. I will see to it myself.”

He definitely said “sire,” which is just plain weird. Maybe it’s Russian. I can’t think of anything else.

The guard helps me all the way to the elevator, where the ride down feels endless. No one says anything as we descend. Fury remains unconscious. His eyes are closed, and his chest rises and falls in a rhythmical fashion.

The basement is nothing like the penthouse above. The walls are concrete, the lighting harsh and industrial. We’re led to a small room with no windows, just bare walls and a thin mattress on the floor with a couple of blankets.

They deposit Fury on the mattress with little ceremony, and I limp over to kneel beside him. The tranquilizer darts are still embedded in his skin; there are small trickles of blood where the needles penetrated.

One of the guards returns almost immediately with sandwiches and several bottles of water. He sets them on the floor near the door.

“I’ll be back to check on you later,” he says. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t try anything stupid. You don’t want to get on Kozlov’s bad side. Also, your blood smells really good. We don’t want there to be an accident. Someone might accidentally drain you dry.” He sniffs and then closes the door.The lock is turned. Then there is a heavy slide of metal against metal as the bolt slides into place.

We’re locked in, alright.

Fury starts to stir just as the guard’s footsteps fade away. His eyelids flutter, and he makes a low groaning sound.

“Fury?” I whisper, leaning over him. “Can you hear me?”

His eyes open slowly, unfocused and glassy. He tries to sit up but immediately falls back with a pained grunt.

“Easy,” I tell him, placing a gentle hand on his chest. “Don’t try to move too fast.”