8
“Steele? Who the f**k is Steele?” Darce demanded as Adkins unlocked his wrists and ankles.
Blood rushed back into his limbs and dragged a groan from his lips. He tried to kick out, to get at least one blow in on the human soldier, but his body refused to cooperate, the pins and needles hampering his reactions.
“Bet you feel like the f*****g man, don’tcha, Adkins? Beating up on drugged up captives?”
Adkins answered by cuffing him hard across the face, a backhanded blow that brought a snarl to Darce’s lips, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He needed moonlight or his mate near to force the silver out of his skin.
He tried to bite as the corporal dragged him to his feet and shoved him toward the cage behind the chair, but his teeth snapped empty air. Stumbling, he threw his weight
