Ryan’s fingers were tangled in Michael’s hair. The executioner’s blade—a heavy, ceremonial silver broadsword—trembled in Ryan’s other hand. He wasn't used to holding something that heavy. It threw off his balance.
Jane noticed that immediately. If he swung, he would overcompensate. He would miss the clean decapitation and hit the collarbone. It would be messy.
She knelt on the freezing concrete, tasting copper. Her neck screamed where the silver wire had burned directly over her mating mark, but she cataloged the pain and filed it away. Panic was useless here. Panic was for prey.
"Any last words, brother?" Ryan spat, his chest heaving with adrenaline.
Michael didn't look at him. His eyes, completely consumed by the terrifying black of the feral venom, were locked on Jane.
He didn't sp
