Whisper blinked, eyeing up the wine in my hands as if he knew exactly what I was doing—raiding his master’s supplies.

“Shoo.” I smiled. “This is for humans only.”

Moving past him, I tried one of the drawers, finding plates and bowls but no glasses.

Whisper followed me, pressing his nose against my hip.

“Are you hungry too?” I opened another drawer.

Aha!

Snatching a crystal glass, I uncorked the jar and splashed clear alcohol into it. Tart pear hit my nose. Perfect. That was one of my favourites. Where did Lucien and his prison guards get this stuff? If they sold them in supermarkets, I would definitely have a drinking problem because they were far too delicious.

Bringing the glass to my lips, I closed my eyes to enjoy the first mouthful and—

Fell on my ass as Whisper knocked me over.

Wine splashed all over me, soaking into my white shirt, turning it see-through and revealing—just like I didn’t like tight clothing—I didn’t like restrictive lingerie. The silk camisole I wore underneath plastered to my skin just like my shirt, making me shiver with icy shock.

“What are you doing, you silly thing?” Pushing the giant predator off me, I tried to climb to my feet, but Whisper pushed me again, his giant head against my wet chest, scooting me along the floor.

“Hey!”

He didn’t stop using me as a mop, pushing me around the island and toward another door in the distance that led to an area I hadn’t been bold enough to explore.

Backing away, Whisper gave me just enough time to stagger to my feet before grabbing the material of my linen trousers and jerking me forward.

I tripped.

My hand landed on his shoulder blades, feeling muscles working beneath sleek fur. “What’s wrong?” I asked, having no choice but to go where the panther yanked me. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

Whisper growled and carted me like a dead gazelle under the archway, down another corridor, and through a cracked open doorway.

I stumbled inside and froze.

Black damask covered the high walls, black velvet drapes blocked the falling dusk, and only a few lamps lit the space. Tucked against the far wall, with nothing else around it as if surrounded by a moat of darkness, was his bed.

“You can’t bring me in here,” I hissed, trying to wrench free from Whisper’s teeth. “This is his bedroom. He’ll kill me if—”

A masculine groan, long and low.

In the gloom, my eyes adjusted, locking onto Lucien Ashfall sitting in the middle of his black-shrouded bed. Cross-legged as if he’d been meditating, his hands clutched his knees until his knuckles turned white. Shirtless, his chin dug against his bare chest, his lean muscles etched with a golden glow, and a silver disc glinting over his heart.

Whisper pulled me forward.

My gaze locked on that strange metallic circle looking so odd against his skin. Further away, it’d looked like a large pendant with no chain, but up close, it was embedded into his flesh. Inserted like some morbid jewellery, his skin raw around the edges. Angry red veins crawled from it, spiderwebbing outward.

What on earth—?

The lamps made his collarbones sharp as daggers; his skin glistened with sweat as he panted. His blue-black hair dangled over his cheeks and his eyes squeezed tight. Breathing hard, he trembled and quaked, agony bleeding out of him with every tremor.

The silver cuffs I’d glimpsed a few times shackled his wrists as terrible as handcuffs. They bit into him, tight and cruel, matching the awful mess of that silver plate inserted directly above his heart.

Whisper whined as I came to a stop beside Lucien’s bed, his tail flicking with worry.

What was happening? What did this mean?

What’s wrong with him?

“Are you...alright?” The words came out ridiculously quiet against his savage groan of despair. He didn’t seem conscious. Didn’t look up or open his eyes.

“What’s wrong with him?” I glanced at the panther, wishing he spoke English. “What do you expect me to do?”

Whisper cocked his head, his ears flattening. He showed a hint of fang as if adopting his master’s way of making me do things.

Stroking his scruff, I locked down my nervous system as it tried to give me a migraine. I wasn’t equipped for this. I would never have the constitution necessary to be a doctor or nurse and counted myself lucky I wasn’t passed out on the floor, but...the way Whisper watched his suffering master broke my heart.

How long had they lived together?

How had a panther ended up here, in this place, with him?

Gritting my teeth against the rush of nausea, I backed up. “I’ll, eh, I’ll go and get him a glass of water, okay?”

Whisper grunted warningly as I tried to leave.

“I’ll be right back, I promise. I-I’ll get him something to drink and—”

Lucien cried out, buckling over his knees and digging his fingernails into his black loose trousers. Every muscle in his stomach and arms bunched and shook with pain. Another groan followed by a guttural gasp.

My headache exploded. My vision went grey.

I staggered backward as the room spun.

Too much stress. Too much confusion.

Why was he hurting so much? What could help him? Why was no one here to tend to him—

Lucien’s head suddenly tipped back as the strange silver disc over his heart flashed with a green light then a red.

He roared.

Tears stung my eyes. My knees went to give out.

Whisper shot behind me, pressed his giant head against the small of my back, and shoved me forward.

I went flying.

Onto the bed, onto Lucien.

Our bodies collided and my weight sent him sprawling backward. His eyes snapped open as my wet shirt plastered against his blazing bare chest.

The world contracted to his heat burning into me and the frantic thud of his heart, trapped beneath that silver circle.

Comprehension flooded him that he was no longer suffering alone as our eyes locked. His pupils were too wide, the whites tainted with red.

He sucked in a harsh breath as his legs kicked out from their cross-legged pose. I lay over him, jostled with every move he made. I tensed as parts of him pressed against parts of me. His heat. His trembles. His overwhelming maleness.

Baring his teeth, he clamped his hands on my waist as if to throw me off. He sucked in another breath that sent him convulsing with yet more pain.

I stiffened on top of him, too frightened to move, too dizzy to fight.

We were flush. Hips to hips, chest to chest, lips so close—

For a second, everything seemed to stop. The air thickened. Pain paused.

His eyes dove into mine, sharp and cutting.

But then, he froze.

His trembling stopped for a moment as surprise arched his eyebrows.

His gaze dropped to my mouth, skating over my face as if searching for something. “How...how are you doing that?”

I licked my lips, trying to swim through the syrup my thoughts had become.

“Doing what?” My voice cracked, too soft and breathy thanks to the chaos he caused inside me.

He stared as if he couldn’t look away. “The pain—” He cut himself off. Every muscle in him shuddered, as if having me lying on top of him broke a thousand of his rules. His heartbeat hammered against mine, trapped by that awful silver disc, skipping and syncing with mine, making my broken system misfire.

“Who are you?” he snarled, his hands digging painfully into my sides. “Why can you—?” He cut himself off again as if afraid of whatever answers I might give.

Hyperawareness sizzled between us.

I felt every inch of him beneath me. I’d never been this close to a man before. Never known how utterly addictive it would be to feel both terrified and teased—drawn into the danger of him, the unpredictability of him—realising in the most instinctive part of me how vulnerable I was if he decided to hurt me.