Demon Lost (32 page)

"Where is Reah? Where's Tory?" Lendill Schaff finally had the sense to ask—caging the wizards and getting medical attention for Nods had come first—he had questions to ask of that captive.

"Reah got shot," Gavril shouted. "She needs help—where is she?"

"I think Tory took her—he, uh, changed," Ry admitted, only now realizing just how dangerous a thing that might turn out to be. "Get Mom, and ask her to bring Uncle Garde," Ry sat down and rubbed his forehead. He was in complete exhaustion—he hadn't wanted to deliver any killing blows—Lendill and Norian wanted live bodies to question. The wizards he and Wyatt had fought turned out to be more powerful than he might have guessed.

* * *

There comes a time when pain can be so intense and debilitating that you cannot form words or even whimper. That was my condition—Tory's lengthened canines were in the back of my neck and I was now in the worst imaginable agony. Only my left hand worked and I was clawing at the soft soil beneath me. I know—the strangest things can register on your mind in a sort of detachment—grass had been pulled up by the handfuls as I endured the bite—the long blades slick with dew and sliding through my fingers at first, before I looped my hand in them and pulled. Tory was grunting behind me, his teeth still in my neck, his smoky breath curling past my cheek. Somewhere, amid the pain, I was afraid I might die. And then, as the searing pain continued, came the hope that death would actually come.

* * *

Torevik Rath, in his smaller Thifilathi, carefully pulled his canines from his mate's neck. She was motionless beneath him. Even in his primal state, he realized it shouldn't be that way. He lifted one of her hands; it dropped bonelessly as he released it. He turned her over—her eyes were closed. A gaping hole was in her shoulder; how had that happened? Tory knelt and sniffed the wound—it smelled raw—burned. He hadn't done that—it smelled nothing like him. He breathed on her face—surely that would wake her. It didn't. His demon heart began to pump fearfully faster—what had happened? He had claimed his mate—she bore his marks—but now she was unresponsive. He lifted his head and howled in misery.

The End

About the Author:

Connie Suttle lives in Oklahoma with her patient, long-suffering husband and three cats. The cats are not long-suffering. In fact, they can be quite demanding and never allow their humans to sleep late.

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Information on upcoming titles, as well as a glossary containing character names, places and terms can be found on Connie's website: www.subtledemon.com. Follow her blog at subtledemon.blogspot.com or find her on her Facebook page—Connie Suttle Author. She is also on twitter: @subtledemon