The library is *too* small for all of us.
The scent of *old books* and *leather* and *rage* is *thick* in the air, *cloying*, *intoxicating*. The fire *crackles* in the hearth, casting *shadows* that *dance* like *demons* on the walls.
Knox is *pale*, his dark eyes *black* with rage, his voice a growl. *"You *marked* her?"* His voice is *low*, *rough*, *possessive*, his hand *flicking* to the *bite* on my thigh, the *blood* still *fresh*, the scent of *copper* *thick* in the air.
Cole *steps* back, his green eyes *dark*, his voice a dark promise. *"She’s *mine* too, Knox,"* he says, his voice *steady*, *calm*, but there’s a *flicker* of *defiance* in his gaze.
*Fuck.*
The bond *pulses* between us, bright and *unstoppable*, and I can *feel* them—Knox’s *rage*, Cole’s *devotion*, the *t
