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one of the endless conversations in which Alex had pushed him for
details about his battles with the vampires. Mitchell hadn’t wanted to
answer then, but Alex had begged, coaxing the details out of the
reluctant storyteller. He knew now why his father hadn’t wanted to
recall the details, hadn’t wanted to remember. Hearing the vamps
stalk toward him, sensing their hunger, unable to defend himself or
his mate from their snapping, clicking, ever-approaching fangs, he
thought he might lose his mind.
He kept his eyes locked on Jacob, feeling despair and revolt and
misery as Murdock braced his arm across his neck and closed a claw-
tipped finger around his shoulder. The pain inside him was unreal as
the gesture drew his wolf to the surface. It clawed and snapped and
growled inside him, straining at the metal bindings to shift and losing
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the fight. The sheer feeling of inadequacy was doubled when he
looked into his mate’s eyes and saw him looking back at him with
something more than fear, something Jacob was feeling for Alex, on
his behalf. It reached out to Alex and the unwelcome emotion slid
around him like a snake until he could identify what it was. Pity. His
mate pitied him for what was about to happen.
That was when he heard the air split behind him with the crack of
the whip.
It didn’t quite touch him, not just yet, but Alex sensed it moving
behind him, so close it had the crowd behind him cheering and
screaming for more, drowning out the small cry of his mate as he
protested. The hazy dread that had dwelled inside him until now had
sharpened into a crystalline fear of his role in the evening’s activities,
for he knew now what was to come next.
He had played around with whips before, had used them on subs
to enact scenes that drew their potency from the appearance of pain.
He had given it, and they had taken it, but there were always limits,
always certain lines drawn that Alex would not dare to cross. There
was always consent, and there was never blood drawn, never anything
that would bruise or scar or cut. This time would be different, though.
It was what the audience wanted, and Murdock had made it his
business to be a fine showman. As Murdock made his final
ministrations and ados, Alex could feel the desire, the hunger of the
vamps behind him swelling, could feel them growing impatient for
the main event.
Murdock would whip him, and he would cut him, but Alex hardly
expected to feel the hot rush of blood on his back when the whip
cracked down on it.
The vamps would lick up every drop.
Crack!
The first blow landed, and he felt himself swarmed by cold hands,
cold fingers, cold mouths and tongues, lapping and licking at the hot
stinging pain in his back. Again, the whip cracked, and again, and
Jacob at the Break of Dawn
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again, ripping his skin, even as claws and fangs dug into it from every
conceivable place. His wolf struggled to heal, but the cuts were too
many and too deep, and they were torn over and over as the life was
drained from him.
Just a dream, he told himself, it was just a dream, but he couldn’t
believe it. Even as he repeated the words to himself he could
remember what happened to Jasper and Lars when they found
themselves dreaming after mating with Ben and Danny. The hurt
they’d experienced in their dreams was all too real upon waking up,
as were their injuries.
Denial shot through Alex like a rocket. He was strong, he told
himself, he was strong and he could take it, but the years he’d spent
training and shaping his body were only a distant memory now,
engulfed by the powerlessness he felt welling inside him.
Black spots swam in front of his vision, but behind them, he
thought he could see Jacob struggling, thought he could hear his voice
echoing in his ears as if he were shouting through a long tunnel,
thought he could see the blur of Jacob’s small body as he broke free
from Murdock.
Alex fought the darkness that was trying to overwhelm his vision.
Jacob was heading toward him, running right into the fray, and if he
reached the feeding frenzy, the vamps would devour him. He would
suffer like Alex, but unlike Alex, he would die. His fragile body
wouldn’t heal, and they would drain him dry. In the dream and in
reality.
The sheer sense of horror the thought brought to Alex’s mind was
like a jolt to his consciousness. He was pulled from the hazy
blackness that engulfed him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the
nightmare, wasn’t enough to save his mate.
He had to wake up.
* * * *
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Rough hands shook Jacob awake, and his eyes flew open when he [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]