Krys.
“You dare to hurt her?” His words are sharp—the fatal swipe of a blade.
All of the amusement and levity he displayed only moments before has dissipated, replaced by stone-cold anger.
Fear seeps into the shifter’s eyes, though he attempts to regain his bravado, going so far as to puff out his chest. “The bitch attacked me first.”
The sound Krys releases then could best be described as a growl.
“I was going to kill you for hurting her. But because you called her a bitch?” He advances on the shifter. “It’s going to be slow and agonizing.”
It’s only then I realize that every other supernatural in the bar—all one hundred-plus men and women—are lying on the ground, writhing in agony, black veins erupting from the various arrows protruding from their bodies. Only the shifter remains.
Krys moves like liquid itself, each movement fluid and deadly. He’s replaced his bow with a katana that he uses to cut off both of the shifter’s arms.
The shifter screams and drops to his knees.
The next five minutes are…brutal.
Horrifying.
Disgusting.
And oddly sexy, in a very, very demented way.
I need therapy.
Krys dismembers the shifter one limb at a time, but he doesn’t allow him to die. I don’t know if magic is involved or the shifter’s naturally advanced healing keeps his heart pumping, but the man is conscious during every minute of his torture.
“You never should’ve laid your hands on her,” Krys says darkly, his sword raised and prepared to cut off the final body part—his head.
“No!” I scream, charging forward instinctively.
Krys pauses and turns towards me, his brows furrowed. “If this is too much for you, you can wait outside.”
Despite his softened voice, his eyes are still deadened. Cold. Cutting. They glow with a malevolent darkness I don’t think I’veever seen in Krystian before, though I suppose I don’t know him well enough to tell for sure.
“It’s not that.” My stomach twists painfully. “It’s just… I don’t want him to die.”
He stares at me in disbelief. “What?”
“I mean, I don’t want to be around him when he dies,” I say quickly. “I don’t know what will happen to me if I’m around a soul.”
For all I know, that will be the catalyst capable of pulling me back to the other plane of existence.
I’m not sure how much Krys knows about my origins—he claims he isn’t aware of anything that happens during the day, yet he didn’t bat an eye at my appearance nor ask for my name—but I’m hoping he’ll hear the pleading in my voice.
I can’t go back to that existence.
I won’t.
I’d rather die.
Understanding lights in Krys’s eyes, and he slowly drops the sword back to his side.
The shifter sobs in relief.
“You’re living tonight only because my goddess is merciful,” Krys says seriously. Then a wicked smile tugs at his lips. “But tomorrow night? I’ll hunt you down and kill you. If, of course, you don’t die from your injuries before then.”
