…He lifted her slight body into his arms, recoiling at his father’s scent on her. At least his brothers hadn’t touched her. If they had, she’d have a hell of a lot more than shock to recover from. His brothers liked to use a beautiful woman for more than her blood. Jonas had freed a few during the years that he’d lived with them, and by freed he meant their souls—that had been before he’d stopped killing humans. His brothers had hated him for that, but he couldn’t take the screams in the night; the futile pleas for help.
He made to put Catherine into the car, but her long brown hair fell aside, distracting him. Her throat, which had once been spotless—an empty canvas for him to paint—was now marred by his father’s fangs. Her pulse was beating hard, angrily beneath them as if in injustice.
Lazarus had fed on her…
Darcy Branwyn 
Leave a comment