Page 81 of White Raven (Nevermore Duet #2)

“What the hell is that?!” Tony gasped, holding his ears. She heard it too. The remnants of the pendant at her chest warmed and roared with whispering—and she knew exactly who it was now.

“You can hear that?” Sarah asked, situating her fingers on the lip of the coffin.

“Yes!” he heaved, confused, and seemingly terrified.

“Don’t worry about it. Help me. Pull that side up!

” They pulled at it together, and it finally gave, lifting off.

The smell was alarming…the sight even worse.

Tony tossed the lid of the coffin over the side of the grave, and Sarah choked on the growing knot in her throat as she scrambled for Athan’s phone and turned on the flashlight.

“ Jesus …hold this, Tony!” she handed him the phone, and he shined the light down onto Athan’s damp, withering form.

He was filthy, covered in sweat…piss. There was dried blood on his knuckles, and pieces of his mangled fingernails hung from his fingertips.

Scratches on his forehead were only semi-healed.

He was weak. The closest she’d ever seen him to death.

But—his chest moved. Achingly slow, and heartbreakingly evident.

This was the cruelest form of pure torture she’d ever witnessed.

Sarah felt the sting of hot tears roll down her face, and she sniffled as she climbed into the coffin, stepping between his legs and kneeling down to take him beneath his arms and raise him to sit.

“Oh, mate…” Tony whispered, shaking his head. “How the hell could someone do this?”

It didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that he was alive. Barely…but alive. Sarah rested his back against the inner wall of the grave and took his face in her hands. His damp hair fell over his brow, and she brushed it back, breathing wildly.

“Athan…baby, open your eyes. Wake up. I’m here, wake up! ”

Nothing.

Athan wake up!

Tears continued to stream down her cheeks, and his mouth slowly dropped open, revealing the tips of his fangs.

Blood…he needs blood.

Sarah bit into the tattoo…the one they shared. The one that would always remind her who they were to each other, and how they came together. Blood gathered at her wrist, and she waved it beneath his nose. His breathing picked up slightly, and his eyelids fluttered.

“His mouth,” Tony urged. “Drip it into his mouth!”

One drop.

Two.

A few more…

Bloody cunt.

Every step away from that dungeon of a hallway felt like running from a rabid hound.

Like the ghost of her haunted his very heels, even though this club was filled to capacity with sweating bodies, and liquor…

blood. His throat was on fire, and his veins thrummed with their need to be indulged.

He’d fight it off for as long as he could.

He had a good one in mind from his file.

A child rapist waiting for a death that was anything but deserving of a piece of shit that low.

Whiskey. Whiskey should hold him long enough to make it to the prison.

The smell of fresh blood from the curtained booths hidden along the wall made him want to choke.

The monster never cared to wait for the opportune moment for its tax.

Tony met him at the bar and thank God for his quick response.

He must have seen it in his eyes, though he’d never call him out on it.

He never gave Tony Lloyd enough credit for the man he was.

Whispers started to rage in the darkest depths of his foggy mind, and an unrelenting tug urged him to turn around—

Christ…

It was as if his eyes knew exactly where to find her.

Had he not been fighting off the betrayal of his poise, he might not have noticed the shortness of his breath as soon as he’d laid eyes on her.

If his heart had still been beating, it would be breaking its way through his chest cavity.

The demon inside of him screamed for her—that human thing that seemed to call to him from the busy dance floor.

She had spotted him too. Like the stars had aligned in just the right way for him to steal a piece of her soul to save for later…

a soul he’d never get to know, even if some part of him felt as if it were dying to.

Athan threw back the whiskey, after he lit his cigarette, and although his entire being was begging him to turn around and go back for her…

he rushed out without looking back. His bike was parked a short ways away, but a thrashing storm had blanketed Boston in sheets of rain, and rolling thunder.

Perfect. Maybe it would stifle the smoldering of his body…

of this hunger. It wouldn’t be a very long ride to the prison.

Go back…stay. Stay close to her.

He knew he shouldn’t. His mind was made up. He swung a leg over the seat and prepared to crank the bike—but the whispers became loud enough to make his head pound.

Wait for her…they seemed to say.

His control was slipping. No matter what decision he’d landed on, the monster had made his too. He felt himself beginning to disappear, and the beast taking center stage.

No! Not her!

There was no stopping it. His body was his prison, and his hunger the warden.

Rain blew in from every direction, and he lost all sense of time as he screamed on the inside, hiding in the shadows as that perfect creature walked blindly into the night.

She didn’t know just how lost she really was, and he was helpless to stop it.

He crept closer, and he powered every bit of fight he had left into himself, causing his body to react.

His arm hit a nearby dumpster, and the beast reeled him in, shoving him back as she startled and turned around.

“Oh, hell no…nope.” Her voice was a smooth rasp of addiction.

Of fucking heroine. The monster sang for it, lunging forward just as she turned away.

Athan wailed on the inside, flinching at the sound of his own fangs puncturing her soft, warm skin, and he nearly thought he’d die at the taste of her blood.

The beast was tamed. Sated. Nestling happily back into its cage as he tore his mouth from her neck at the same moment she whispered…

“No…”

His eyes gaped open, and red clouded his vision—not darkness.

He could have sworn he heard her. Her and…

someone else…calling to him. Could have sworn he could still taste her blood on his tongue, satisfying the deepest parts of his cursed soul.

He had to be delusional. This wasn’t real.

He felt his arms move. Felt the slight warmth of skin in his palms, and he drank… swallowed. Savored.

“Athan…”

That voice. He’d longed for it. Thought he’d never hear it again.

Never see her face. His back bowed, and his veins hummed.

The roaring in his ears raged in time with familiar whispers he hadn’t heard for a while.

He heard her moan softly, and it set him on fire.

He lost all control of his body, raising onto his knees, and reaching around her. His bloodlust overcame everything.

“Take me,” she exhaled, and he could feel her fingers twine through his hair.

A throbbing vein pulsed against his lips, and he opened his mouth against it, gasping for air, and biting into salvation.

He drank from her savagely, unable to stop himself.

Every second seemed like an eternity. Every swallow breathed life back in.

“Kane! Kane, stop! You’re gonna kill her, mate!”

He knew that voice. Athan opened his eyes, and realized Tony was kneeling behind her—behind…

Sarah?

It was real. Very real. The monster was still feeding, but the man …

Sarah…

“Kane! Please! She’s gonna—”

It wasn’t Athan who growled, baring his teeth, and snapping at Tony in warning…there was nothing he could do. It was gonna happen again. He was going to take her life, yet again…a haunting replay of the night he first saw her.

Fight it Athan…come back to me.

He wanted to…Fuck, he wanted nothing more than to make this stop.

I’m so sorry…I’m so…why, Sarah? Why did you do this?

Her arms squeezed tighter, and every drop he took from her made him feel more alive. Warm. Safe… home .

All the flowers…are mine.

Her voice was hoarse, even in his mind…weakening. Dying .

On the morrow, he will leave me…as my hopes have flown before…

He drank in her scent…her warmth…her life. Her arms slackened, and a flutter of wings distracted him. He’d nearly taken it all when his mouth broke from her skin, and Poe appeared on her shoulder…

“Nevermore,” Poe screeched.

Athan heaved air in and out of his burning lungs.

Sarah drooped in his arms, half conscious, and smiling to herself.

Her wrist and neck were bloody and torn.

Tony winced back in utter shock. She stared at him through heavy-lidded hazel eyes, Poe watching him just as intently… and he saw them. Truly saw them.

“Sarah…” he breathed, his bloody lip quivering.

She reached up, stroking his face with a trembling hand, and it finally dawned on him that she was real. She’d come for him. She’d always come for him.

“If you don’t fucking hold me right now, I swear to God—”

He cut her off with a blood-drenched kiss to her mouth, and it was anything but gentle. She was here. They were alive.

They were together.

And whatever— whoever —had tried to rip them apart…was going to fucking pay.

Half an hour. She had half an hour to board a flight and get to Portland.

It was barely enough time to find Leigh, make sure she was safe, and then get to her family before it was too late.

If John sent an order to hit, they might have already carried it out—or are in the process of wiping the wolves from existence this very second.

Who could say where his mind was? Where it had ever been?

He might have decided to extend that hit beyond her family…

and instead leave the legacy of werewolves and hybrids like herself, just as much a part of history as his famous poetry.