Damon jolted up in bed, sweat covering every inch of pale skin. Gasping, he clutched his chest, feeling as though his heart was being ripped out. Everything hurt, but looked healed, every part of him battered and bruised from the fight with the rebels, not to mention the nasty cut on his side that he was lucky didn't slice out a kidney or worse. But the pain he felt right now wasn't physical; it was spiritual. Soul-wrenching. Something was horribly wrong. Glancing to the side, there was no one in the room. Hadn't he looked up just hours ago and seen Scar at his side, dozing off in an uncomfortable position in her chair because she'd been too stubborn to leave him to go sleep in another bed. Loyal to a fault, she was. So where was Scar now? His sweat felt like little beads of ice on his skin when he noticed the envelope on the stool Scar had been sitting on. He reached over and grabbed it, finding that the outside said 'Damon' in neat cursive. He didn't know what Scar's hand

Each movement was instinctual, primed by a need so fierce and desperate she couldn't put a name to it. All there was the need, the fire that burned so bright inside them both, where once, they'd both been so cold and alone. Damon found just the right angle to drive them both wild with pleasure. They moved together until Scar was so close to the edge that it was all she could do to hold on for dear life. He rocked into her, faster and harder until they both reached the precipice of rapture together. There, they teetered on the edge of ecstasy, riding the crescendo together until they finally crashed into sweet oblivion. As the waves of their orgasm slammed into them, Scar felt like she had found something that had been missing within herself, though she was far too exhausted, too spent to shape that realization into words, let alone comprehend what it might mean. They rocked in unison as they lost themselves in the throes of pleasure. Scar knew that this night would change everyth

He brought her to a house. There wasn’t much to differentiate it from the others; it was small, and built from a mix of clay brick and grey-weathered wooden panels supporting a thick thatch roof. The skinny pillars supporting the threshold were carved into stylized wolves, their jaws wide open. She felt tiny between the two men, and even inside the simple house there was something off about the scale. It was built for shapes that were larger than human. The doorways were wide and ceilings were high, and Scar could imagine the hulking shape of Damon in wolf-skin curled in front of the hearth like some monstrous hunting dog. Despite its larger scale, the house wasn’t big. There was no real kitchen besides an empty pot hanging over the hearth, which made sense, he supposed, considering the communal meal they’d left. Two smaller rooms led off from that main area, and as he was led into one, he stiffened. It was obviously a bedroom. A low platform sat against one wall, he

Damon thrust deeply into Scar’s tight, wet heat and didn’t bother to stifle his moan. Being inside her was the kind of heaven he’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to experience. She fit him like a glove, silken inner walls gripping his cock as she rode him. For a moment, he just watched her, committing every little expression to memory. She was so expressive, every ounce of pleasure showing in her dark eyes and across her flushed face. He’d done that. Made her shiver and moan in his arms, those sexy little sounds imprinted on his soul forever. Each stroke of his hands over her skin brought a new reaction and he lapped them up, needing to bring her to ecstasy over and over again. She was like a drug—his perfect addiction and one he never wanted to be free of. A sensual temptation he would never let go. “Scream for me, Scar,” he ordered, his thrusts harder, faster now. “I want to watch your face as you come. Love to see that.” She panted and bit her lip as she looked down at h

“They are going to do a tracking spell to find Hazel ,” she explained, and the way she sniffled suggested that she was trying to hold back tears. Damon opened his mouth to protest that he already knew where she was, but Tammy continued, “Scar wants to be sure that the foreign pack hasn’t moved her since you found their territory.” Damon pursed his lips and stifled a growl, wondering whether he might have missed his chance to rescue Hazel and the children abducted entirely. He fought the urge to charge into the library and demand for the witches to hurry up and get on with it so that he could go right back. When he finally couldn’t stand it any longer, he turned to Tammy and asked, “Are you going to be alright a minute if I go to my room for a couple of things?” He didn’t move until Tammy nodded, but the moment that she did, he turned and began to race up the stairs in the direction of his assigned room, relieved that although he had his own place on the other side of Silverda