Page 1 of Fangs

Prologue

The dream begins the way all dreams do…

Without permission.

Shadows slink in the corners like living ink. One of them claws its way from the wall and creeps forward, long and curious, lapping the cold air. A second shadow slithers from beneath the bed. A third plummets down the bedpost like smoke given purpose.

I struggle to sit up, but the first shadow already shackles my ankle. The sudden frost wrings a gasp from my throat. It binds me once, twice, measuring the shape of my bone, devouring the heat of my skin.

Another cradles my wrist. A third slides along the inside of my thigh with the slow confidence of a creature that has been waiting centuries for permission it no longer needs.

My heart thrums frantically against my ribs. ‘Not real,’ I breathe. ‘Only a dream. Only—’ A low rumble shudders through the dark, echoing deep in my sternum.

He is here.

A powerful, tall, broad-shouldered presence towering over me, more than a man.

The graze of a mouth near my ear, the brush of cold breath against the pulse that flutters traitorously in my throat.

“You smell of fear and unfinished prayers,” the darkness says. The words slide under my skin like silk pulled the wrong way. “They mean to sell you. I will not allow it.”

The shadows tighten.

One shackles each wrist, dragging my arms above my head until my shoulders strain. Another pair claim my ankles and spread them slow, until the cool night air kisses the softest parts of me. I’m open. Displayed.

The shadows scour my skin with a playful hunger that stings. One carves the line of my collarbone. Another sneaks beneath the thin shift I was given, mapping the underside of my breast, the tight peak of a nipple that hardens under the cool caress.

I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper.

‘This is not happening. This is not—’

A shadow nests between my thighs, learning the shape of my heat. The pressure is precise. It strokes my clit once, twice, and my hips rise without my permission.

A soft, fractured whimper escapes my mouth.

“Yes,” the voice murmurs, closer now. “There. That sound. I have waited for it.”

His weight settles over me. The shadows hold me open while sharp needle tips graze the side of my throat.

Fangs.

“You are already mine,” he says against my skin. “Long before they ever put a price on you.”

The shadow between my thighs strokes harder. Circles. Strokes again. Pleasure coils low and vicious, tightening into a knot.

My breath fractures. My body arches into the restraint, into the cool, knowing touch that seems to understand exactly where I’m most sensitive, most shameful, most hungry.

I should fight. I should scream myself awake. Instead I tilt my head, offering more of my throat.

A low, dark laugh brushes my ear.

“Good girl.”

The fangs sink in. A bright flare of pain that melts instantly into heat. A metallic taste floods my mouth even though he has not kissed me. The shadows surge, holding me tighter as the pleasure crashes through me in a violent wave. My body locks. My vision whites out. I come with his name—Blake—torn from my throat like a prayer and a curse at once.

I wake gasping, sheets twisted around my legs, the thin shift damp between my thighs. My wrists ache with the ghost of pressure. My throat burns where no mark should be.

I press trembling fingers to the skin there.