The Dark City Chronicles ⁓ Book Three
The apocalypse looms ever closer! Steamy romance, heart-stopping action, seductive vampires, magic that defies nature, sprinkles of dark-humor, and, as always, the everlasting bonds of friendship.
Hannah's strug...
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"Fuck."
"Yeah," Alexander muttered, scratching inside the wound with medical tweezers. The rising pain in his shoulder had begun to slice Kiernan's head with a throbbing ache. "I don't know if I can get the bullet out like this. It's deep."
Kiernan laid his sweaty forehead on the couch's armrest. "Keep trying."
He dealt with the pain silently. He'd trained himself to remain stoic at his most vulnerable. It wasn't difficult. He didn't show emotion normally, anyway. He'd been doing fine so far, for the last hour or so, that Alexander shoved metal into his wound and stopped his healing over and over again.
He was fine until his watering gaze flickered to his phone, which he'd left on a small table beside a shaded lamp and his holstered gun.
They had escaped the agent's attempt on his life, defeated Azrael's cultists, discovered the magic dampener in the book the agent had pretended to read upon his arrival, and just before they left the shop, his phone vibrated.
It'd been Gabriel.
"Alexander."
"Hm?"
"Tie me."
Through the bond, he felt a wave of Alexander's worry.
Even so, he wasn't protested verbally, and soon, his wrists were held together by Alexander's belt, and his fingers were clenched into fists tight enough for his knuckles to become numb.
"Are you sure?"
Kiernan nodded. "I don't want to hurt you. It's safer."
"Alright," Alexander said tightly.
The pain was tenfold, and he gasped, hating the pathetic noise the moment it escaped. He was kept still by a hand against the side of his head. The tweezers delved so deep he swore he could taste the metal in his mouth, bitter and tangy.
He panted through the agony, his hazy gaze flickering up.
His phone sat on that glossy table, mocking him with what he knew would be there, linked to that damning text message.
He felt a sweat break out on his skin. He pulled against the belt, breath coming so quick he could hardly fill his lungs before he was taking another.
Alexander must have felt the shift through their bond because he hooked his leg around Kiernan's, pinning his shin to the couch.
The sensation of being unable to move, fight, had Kiernan letting loose a noise of despair, muffled against the couch's armrest.
"No," Alexander soothed. "None of that."
Kiernan had heard men die, and the sound he made was akin to that anguish. Through his bond with Alexander, he felt a wave of misery that broke through the cloud of panic that was strangling him into insanity.
