Sweat slicked her spine like oil. Her breath came in ragged, broken bursts, lungs clawing for air that no longer tasted real. Her mouth was dry—parched and aching—but laced with a sweetness that didn’t belong in any world she knew. Fermented. Rotten. Like honey left to fester in a corpse.
The pleasure they’d given to her by Scura hadn’t faded.
It had been ripped from her.
Torn like flesh from bone. Like waking from a dream of endless orgasm only to find yourself crumpled in a body that’s cold, shaking, ruined.
The echo of ecstasy mocked her nervous system, still shivering with the ghost of touch.
“You felt it,” crooned Xora, her voice liquid silk, dripping from the shadows behind her. “Didn’t you, darling?”
Havana’s head snapped to the side, but her eyes couldn’t find them. Everythi
