Page 33 of Savage Blood (Den of Shadows #6)

My neck tattoo tingled, and I sensed Fane’s presence as he silently entered his art studio, but I didn’t turn around, not even when his anger burned at my back.

“What are you doing in here, Teague?” His voice, a rough and terrifying snarl, puckered my flesh.

“Are you remembering?” I whispered, holding two pieces of the canvas together with my fingers.

Fane’s bitter laugh was a cold blade piercing my heart. “Of course not.”

I jerked around and wiped off my tears. “How do you explain your paintings? These are things Kaspin’s spell stripped away. ”

Fane gave a lazy shrug, his muscles so tense that his black t-shirt threatened to shred right off him. “I’m just going on what people tell me.”

“Bullshit.” I shot to my feet and closed the distance between us, a streak of ruby flashing in his irises. “You’re getting your memories back.”

A sneer curved his mouth. “That’s wishful thinking, Teague. Those memories are long gone and never coming back.”

Rage pumped through my veins—for his frigid tone and for all the shit we’d endured—and I couldn’t stop myself from lashing out.

“Stop lying!” I slammed my fists into his chest over and over again. And he let me. “Stop pretending that none of this matters, that our story, our bond, our love doesn’t matter.”

The iciness vanished from his face, and he grabbed my wrists, yanking me into him. “It all matters.”

“Then why do you want to throw it away?” My voice broke on that last word, my bottom lip trembling.

“Don’t you understand?” The sharp edge of his tone softened and melted away. “ You are all that matters.”

The walls he’d erected to block his emotions suddenly crumbled, and the flood of his anguish hit me so hard I staggered back. The agony that washed over his features tore gouges in my heart.

I couldn’t breathe or feel anything but the sheer, overwhelming sensation of drowning in a never-ending abyss—a chasm of shadows so deep nothing else existed.

Fane was falling through it with no hope of ever finding the bottom.

Hot tears streaked my cheeks as I closed the gap between us again while his body trembled. How could he stand this feeling? How could he live every day and bear it?

He did care.

He cared so much it crushed him.

“Why are we doing this? Why are we putting each other through this?” I asked.

“Because we have to.” He stroked his thumb across my cheek, smearing my tears.

“Aren’t you afraid, Fane?” I took a shuddering breath. “Saint is my fated. Aren’t you afraid that by getting close, my bond with him will grow and take root, forcing ours to bend and eventually snap?”

A humorless laugh spilled from his lips. “Our bond can’t break, fiera mika. You should know that.”

My brows knit, and I clutched his shirt as if afraid he’d vanish after those cryptic words. “But if Saint and I?—”

Fane shook his head. “Cirilla told us this bond, the one forged when I bit you, can’t be broken. Claiming each other and becoming mates in the shifter sense only fortified the link between us.”

“You’re not afraid at all?”

“Oh, I believe you might fall in love with him, but you will never be rid of me.” His nostrils flared, his breath quickening. “I would rather watch you with another man than watch you die.”

My head fell to his chest as I choked back a sob. Why couldn’t the universe just let us be together? Even when we hated each other, we still wanted each other. And now that we loved each other, Fate wanted to tear us apart.

But if Fane was right, nothing could really break us.

“Of course, if Saint heals you, I could always kill him,” Fane said. “Problem solved. ”

I jerked back and peered into his face, the blood draining from mine. He was dead serious.

“Putting him through this is wrong, Fane. And you can’t kill him.”

He scoffed. “Saint knows exactly what he’s doing. He jumped at the chance because he thinks he can win you over. Maybe he can, but the idiot doesn’t realize I’ll still be there.”

Before I could argue, Fane’s hand tangled in the hair at my nape, and he tilted my head back as his mouth slowly descended on mine.

Just as our lips brushed in the softest of kisses, his art studio tilted, and shadows swallowed the room.

I groaned as another vision descended over me…

When I blinked, I stood not in Fane’s art studio but in a lavish hallway of ebony floors, so shiny they reflected everything like a blurred mirror. Silver sconces ran down the walls, their lights casting an ominous glow throughout the long corridor.

“This is different.”

My head whipped around, and Fane stood behind me, searching the opulent decor. He’d seen my visions before because of our mental link, but I’d never brought him into one.

A scream burst through the atmosphere, and a sinking feeling hit my gut. I knew that scream.

I grabbed Fane’s hand and pulled him toward the shout, running right through a closed door. The bedroom in Karn’s manor Roman had locked me in materialized, shades of slick black and gray surrounding us.

All the moisture evaporated from my mouth, and a chill raked over my spine as Barric, brandishing a hot iron poker he had pulled from the roaring fire in the hearth, loomed over a bloody, bruised, and bound Hawk.

My stomach lurched. Sweat, blood, and fear thickened the air.

“Go to hell, Barric.” Hawk laughed even while he struggled in the chains binding him to the wooden chair. “Tate is going to kill you one day, and I’ll be there to cheer her on.”

Barric jabbed the poker into Hawk’s bicep, and the raven let out another soul-crushing wail of pain.